MISTER  HORN 

AND  HIS^RIENDS. 


On  a  summer's  evening  one  might  come  upon  a 
group  under  a  shady  tree,  and  there,  amid  a  lot 
of  delighted  youngsters,  would  find  Mister  Horn  en- 
tertaining them  •with  a  story. 

«*•?  pag-?  9. 


MISTER  HORN 


AND  HIS  FRIENDS; 


OR, 


GIVERS  AND  GIVING. 


BY 

MARK  GUY  PEARSE, 

AUTHOR  OF  "DANIEL  QUOEM,"  "SERMONS  FOR  CHILDREN,"  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED. 


NEW   YORK. 
NELSON     &     PHILLIPS, 

CINCINNATI: 
HITCHCOCK     &    WALDEN. 

1877. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAOB 

I.  NOTICE  OF  MISTER  HORN 7 

II.  WE  GO  HOME  WITH  MISTER  HORN 18 

III.  SHOWS  us  SOMETHING  MORE  OF  MISTER  HORN  29 

IV.  INTRODUCES  us  TO  JAMES  NIGGARDLY 36 

V.  How   OLD  JOWL  GOT  A  DINNER 51 

VI.  MORE  TO  BE  DESIRED  THAN  GOLD 59 

VII.  OLD  FRIKND  CHAFFER — WHERE  HE  LIVED...     79 

VIII.  OLD  FRIEND  CHAFFER— WHAT  HE  DID 89 

IX.  INTRODUCES  us  TO  ANOTHER  FRIEND 106 

X.  How  BILL  SMITH  MANAGED 121 

XI.  A  HOMILY  OF  MISTER  HORN'S 141 

XII.  A  GAIN  IN  GRIEF ,  169 


MISTER  HORN  WITH  A  GROUP  OF  YOUNGSTERS a 

ALL  WAS  BEAUTIFUL  WITH  THE  LEAFINESS  OF  JUNE    63 

OLD  JOWL  WITH  HIS  BIBLE 69 

FRIEND  CHAFFER  AT  THE  FARM- YARD 94 

BILL  SMITH  AT  WORK 127 


2137622 


MR.  HORN  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

NOTICE  OF  MISTER  HORN. 

ISTER  HORN 
— the  Mister 
to  be  written 
in  full,  as  if 
it  were  part 
of  the  name, 
just  as  much 
as  the  Horn. 
Every  body 
—  his  wife  as 
well  as  other 
folks  —  used 
to  call  him 
Mister,  just 
as  if  it  were 

his  christened  name.  He  was,  indeed,  the 
only  Mister  in  the  village ;  as  there  was  but 
one  squire  and  one  parson  and  one  doctor. 


8        MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

How  he  came  to  be  known  by  this  honor- 
able distinction  was  certainly  not  suggested 
by  his  appearance — a  little,  sharp,  wiry  man, 
with  a  quick,  kindly  eye,  a  mouth  well  shut, 
short  legs,  walking  so  fast  that  they  seemed 
always  afraid  of  being  left  behind — carelessly 
dressed,  yet  every  thing  about  him  looking 
like  a  part  of  the  man  himself,  from  his  short- 
bowed  neckcloth,  to  the  strong,  unpolished 
walking-stick.  A  sort  of  compressed  man. 
You  felt  that  there  might  have  been  a  good 
deal  more  of  him  fairly  enough,  but  nature 
had  dried  him  and  packed  him  up  small,  that 
he  might  not  be  in  the  way.  And  who  can 
deny  that  a  man's  usefulness  is  largely  depend- 
ent on  his  size?  Your  long  men  are  mainly 
ornamental,  and  accordingly  find  their  place 
in  uniform,  either  in  the  army  or  out  of  it. 
Your  big,  stout  men  are  the  "  Newfoundlands  " 
of  us  human  creatures,  lumps  of  gentle  goodness 
who  go  wagging  benevolently  through  life.  It 
is  your  terrier  that  does  most  good — among 
men  as  among  dogs — sharp-eyed,  sharp-eared, 
sharp-tongued,  and  if  needful,  sharp-toothed  ; 
quick  to  smell  a  rat.  Mister  Horn  was  pre- 
cisely that.  Never  in  the  way,  and  good  for  a 


Mister  Horn.  9 

hundred  things,  if  you  took  him  right.  If  you 
didn't,  he  was  a  terrier  still;  he  bristled  and 
showed  his  teeth. 

Mister  Horn  had  begun  life  as  a  farm  laborer 
— literally  begun  life,  for  as  soon  as  he  could 
make  noise  enough  he  had  been  sent  out  to 
scare  the  birds  from  the  grain,  and  as  soon  as 
he  could  reach  up  to  the  bridle  he  had  led  the 
cart  horses  to  water.  His  sixty  years  had  been 
full  of  progress ;  he  turning  his  hand  to  one 
thing  after  another  and  prospering  in  all — wood- 
man, gardener,  bricklayer,  builder,  he  had  at 
length  reached  a  good  position  as  steward. 

The  Mister  was  probably  a  tribute  of  respect 
paid  to  his  prosperity;  it  was  no  deference 
exacted  by  his  manner  or  exclusiveness.  As 
plain  in  life  as  ever,  free  and  friendly  with  the 
poorest,  the  children  trotted  along  by  his  side, 
looking  up  for  a  smile  and  a  nod ;  the  boys 
stopped  him  for  a  moment  to  fling  their  peg- 
top,  or  to  have  a  turn  at  marbles;  and  jon  a 
summer's  evening  one  might  come  upon  a 
group  under  a  shady  tree,  and  there,  amid  a 
lot  of  delighted  youngsters,  would  find  Mister 
Horn  entertaining  them  with  a  story.* 

*  See  Frontispiece. 


io      MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

He  was  useful,  too,  as  he  was  beloved.  As 
a  Methodist,  he  had  many  opportunities  of  re- 
ligious work ;  and  here,  as  in  the  visible  world 
of  brick  and  mortar,  he  turned  his  hand  to 
most  things,  and  what  he  did  at  all  did  well. 
He  was  the  "  leader "  of  the  Sunday  morn- 
ing class  in  that  village  "  Society, '  and  num- 
bered well  on  to  forty  members ;  too  large, 
some  folks  said,  but  nobody  was  willing  to 
leave  it.  Superintendent  of  the  school  that 
met  in  the  afternoon,  local  preacher  in  the 
evening,  and  sick  visitor  all  the  week  round, 
Mister  Horn  had,  as  he  said,  far  too  much  else 
to  do,  to  grumble.  "  That  takes  more  time 
than  a'most  any  thing  else  that  I  know,  for  I 
never  knew  a  grumbler  yet  that  ever  had  a 
moment  to  do  any  good  with."  This  remedy 
for  grumbling  was  worn  to  the  patness  of  a 
proverb,  and  was  a  formidable  weapon  with 
which  he  usually  came  down  upon  any  body 
who  was  disposed  to  come  fault-finding  to 
him.  "  Look  here,  dear  friend,  get  you  away 
and  do  something — for  pity's  sake  do  some- 
thing. Do  some  good  somewhere.  Cart 
wheels  grumble  and  creak  sometime  for  want 
of  grease,  but  very  often  it  is  for  want  of  work, 


Mister  Horn.  1 1 

and  you'll  never  give  over  creaking  and  grum- 
bling till  you  do  something.  Heaven  itself, 
with  Mister  Horn,  was  a  place  of  eternal 
and  incessant  work.  "  And  I  count  that  that's 
the  brightest  bit  of  heaven's  joy,"  he  would 
say,  "  that  there  they  serve  Him  day  and  night 
in  his  holy  temple — day  and  night.  I  know 
that  there  will  be  no  grumblers  there,  because 
they  are  all  too  busy.  They  have  got  so  much 
to  do  that  it  keeps  them  always  singing." 

Mister  Horn  had  overtaken  Bill  Smith.  Bill 
Smith  was  a  big,  broad-shouldered  blacksmith, 
with  a  face  red,  radiant,  and  honest,  such  as 
comes  only  of  a  good  conscience,  plain  living, 
and  healthy  toil.  Moreover,  Bill  was  Mister 
Horn's  favorite  disciple  and  one  of  his  best 
friends,  so  they  walked  up  the  hill  together 
toward  the  village  where  they  lived.  The  sun 
was  setting,  throwing  their  long  shadows  over 
the  hedge  and  into  the  clover  field  beyond. 
The  clear  air  was  full  of  singing,  every  bird 
taking  its  part  in  the  evening  hymn.  The 
banks  were  rich  with  fern  and  flower,  with 
soft  green  mosses,  and  dark,  creeping  ivy. 
This  scene  of  happy  contentment  had  sug- 
gested the  conversation.  Mister  Horn  began 


12      MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

it.  He  had  stayed  to  hear  the  birds,  and  after 
listening  a  minute  or  two  had  interpreted  their 
gratitude  by  this  passage  : — 

"  Thou  openest  thine  hand,  and  satisfiest 
the  desire  of  every  living  thing."  Then  after 
a  moment's  pause  he  had  started  his  favorite 
topic,  "  The  good  Lord  loves  to  give,  Bill." 

"Aye,"  said  Bill,  "  he  does  that,  Mister 
Horn,  bless  his  holy  name." 

"  And  nobody  has  got  much  of  his  likeness 
about  them  if  they  don't  like  to  do  the  same," 
continued  Mister  Horn,  in  his  sharp,  jerking, 
decisive  style. 

"  And  yet  'tis  strange  what  a  hinderance 
it  was  to  me  when  I  first  set  out,"  said  Bill. 
"  I  was  always  thinking  o'  what  religion  would 
cost.  I  thought  I  must  seek  the  Lord  and 
join  'long  with  his  people,  but  the  devil  kept 
tellin'  me  that  it  would  cost  so  much.  Why  I 
very  soon  found  that  religion  saved  me  four 
times  as  much  as  ever  it  cost." 

"  I  do  wish  the  grumblers  would  think  of 
it  in  that  way,  Bill,"  jerked  out  Mister  Horn. 
"  Why,  there's  Sally  Green,  the  silly  creature  ; 
before  her  husband  got  converted  she  used 
to  reckon  herself  lucky  if  she  got  half  Jack's 


Mister  Horn.  13 

wages,  and  only  a  slight  thrashing  besides ;  and 
now  that  he  brings  it  all  home,  and  is  a  decent 
fellow  and  a  good  husband,  she  goes  grum- 
bling at  what  he  gives  to  the  Lord's  cause." 

"  There's  a  heap  of  strange  things  in  the 
world,"  said  Bill,  half  to  himself,  "  but  there 
aint  many  more  strange  than  that  is." 

Mister  Horn  stopped.  With  his  left  finger 
and  thumb  he  took  Bill's  sleeve,  his  right  hand 
holding  up  the  plain  ash  stick  that  he  carried. 
It  was  evident  that  Mister  Horn  was  going  to 
be  impressive.  This  was  always  his  prepara- 
tion for  something  emphatic. 

"  Bill," — there  was  a  solemn  pause,  the 
stick  meanwhile  suspended — "  If-folks-saw-this- 
matter-in- the -right- light -the-Church-would- 
have  -  enough  -  to-convert  -  the  -  world."  Down 
like  lightning  came  the  stick,  and  away  went 
the  short  legs  at  a  tremendous  pace. 

This  was  Mister  Horn's  hobby.  There  was 
nothing  that  he  thought  about,  talked  about, 
prayed  about,  or  preached  about,  so  much  as 
this  duty  of  giving.  Many  people,  very  many 
people,  said  that  he  rode  this  hobby  to  death. 
Well,  Mister  Horn  was  always  mounted  on  it, 
it  is  true,  and  ready  to  start.  But  on  the  other 


14      MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

hand  it  must  be  admitted  that  these  very  many 
people  were  peculiarly  nervous,  and  its  most 
playful  neighing,  or  the  mere  sounds  of  its 
hoofs  in  the  veriest  jog-trot,  filled  them  with 
terror,  and  made  them  rush  for  shelter  and  de- 
fense from  the  furious  rider.  It  was  literally 
Mister  Horn's  soul  that  delivered  itself  in 
these  words.  He  stopped  at  the  end  of  twenty 
paces  or  so,  while  Bill  leisurely  came  up  with 
him. 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  half  the  folks  would 
do  their  duty  right  enough  if  they  only  saw 
it,"  said  Bill  quietly.  "  You  see  they  don't 
think  about  it,  Mister  Horn." 

"  Don't  think  about  it,  Bill ! "  cried  Mister 
Horn  ;  "  of  course  they  don't,  and  that  makes 
it  so  much  the  worse  for  them.  Folks  think 
that  if  they  can  only  explain  a  thing  that  it's 
just  the  same  as  excusing  it.  Why,  all  the 
mischief  in  the  world  comes  from  not  thinking. 
What  have  people  got  head-pieces  on  their 
shoulders  for,  except  to  think  about  things? 
Why,  any  body  would  think  that  folks  had  got 
figure-heads,  like  ships  have  'em,  for  nothing 
but  show,  as  to  their  thinking  about  giving. 
But  they  can  think  about  other  things  quick 


Mister  Horn.  15 

enough.  They  can  think  about  getting,  Bill, 
and  about  keeping,  and  about  every  thing  else 
except  about  giving." 

"  That's  true  enough,"  said  Bill. 

"  And  then  they  ought  to  think  about  it, 
Bill,  they  ought  to.  Surely  it  ought  not  to  be 
any  thing  so  very  wonderful  that  folks  should 
think  of  the  loving  Father  who  gives  theiirau" 
that  they  have  got.  He  gives  them  the  health 
and  strength  and  sense  to  get  bread  with,  and 
they  think  they  do  it  all  of  their  own  selves. 
They  know  better  when  they  get  on  their 
backs  with  a  fever.  Then  they  know.  But 
'tis  a  pity  that  we  can't  learn  our  ABC  with- 
out going  into  the  corner  for  it,  and  getting  a 
smart  tap  or  two  with  the  rod.  I  often  think 
of  what  the  Bible  says  about  the  disciples — 
they  considered  not  the  miracle  of  the  loaves. 
That's  the  miracle  that  folks  generally  over- 
look to-day,  and  the  wonder  is,  that  the  Lord 
doesn't  let  us  feel  the  pinch  o'  famine  oftener, 
that  we  may  know  where  it  comes  from.  God's 
stream  o'  mercies  has  got  to  run  shallow  some- 
times that  we  may  hear  it  brawling,  and  begin 
to  think  about  where  the  fullness  comes  from. 
Just  let  a  man  sit  down  and  ask  himself  hou 


1 6      MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

muck  he  has  got  that  God  could  take  away,  and 
he'll  begin  to  look  at  things  in  a  different  way 
then ;  there's  eyes,  and  ears,  and  health,  reason, 
character,  home,  family,  work,  wages.  And 
let  a  man  think  how  the  Lord  keeps  his  hand 
upon  them,  and  could  take  them  away  in  a 
minute,  and  I  think  he'd  be  all  in  a  hurry  to 
bring  in  the  tithes  to  the  Lord's  house  then. 
There's  Jim  Niggardly,  with  his  coal  and  tim- 
ber stores — twenty  years  agone  that  man  got 
his  twelve  shillings  a  week,  and  now  he  is  get- 
ting his  five  hundred  pounds  a  year.  He  lives 
better — I  mean  he  eats  and  drinks  better,  and 
he  dresses  better — he  spends  five  shillings  on 
himself  where  he  used  to  spend  one.  Well, 
that's  no  harm,  as  I  told  him  to  his  face,  if  he'd 
give  five  shillings  where  he  gave  one.  Not  a 
half-penny  more  can  you  get  out  of  him  for 
the  Lord's  work.  If  he  hasn't  thought  about 
it,  he  has  had  my  thoughts  about  it,  plain 
enough." 

Bill  nodded  his  head,  as  much  as  to  say  that 
he  had  no  doubt  about  that.  Mister  Horn  had 
a  talent  for  giving  men  his  thoughts,  and  it 
was  practiced  to  perfection. 

Here  they  reached  the  cross-roads  that  ran 


Mister  Horn.  17 

to  the  two  parts  of  the  village  of  Tattingham, 
and  here  the  companions  parted  with  a  cheery 
good-evening.  Bill,  with  his  bag  on  his  shoul- 
der, went  whistling  down  the  hill  between  the 
leafy  hedge,  where  we  shall  follow  him  by  and 
by.  Mister  Horn  kept  along  the  level  high- 
way that  passed  by  his  house,  talking  earnestly 
to  himself  as  he  went.  What  he  thought  of, 
and  what  it  led  to,  we  must  leave  to  another 
chapter. 


1 8      MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 


CHAPTER  II. 

WE  GO  HOME  WITH  MISTER  HORN. 

FEW  yards 
from  a  cross- 
road was  the 
house  of  Mis- 
ter Horn.  If 
Dante's  Vis- 
ion had  pre- 
sented to  his 
view  men  and 
women  trans- 
formed into 
houses  (mar- 
ried folks,  of 
course,  into 
one  house)  instead  of  into  trees,  this  house 
was  exactly  what  Mister  Horn  and  his  better 
half  would  have  come  to. 

It  faced  the  highway  with  clean  windows, 
notably  clean,  and  spotless  blinds  always  fault- 
lessly even.  The  two  yards  of  garden  between 


We  Go  Home  with  Mister  Horn.          ig 

the  house  and  the  highway  was  inclosed  by  iron 
railings,  black  and  sharp  pointed.  The  little 
iron  gate  in  the  middle  was  always  fastened 
and  locked,  except  on  very  great  occasions. 
From  the  gate  to  the  front  door  reached  two 
yards  of  whitened  stones,  never  soiled.  The 
spirit  of  the  whole  front  gathered  itself  up  in 
the  face  that  peered  from  the  shining  brass 
knocker ;  a  polished  face,  haughty  and  stern, 
conscious  that  nobody  trifled  with  it — no  tramp 
ever  lifted  it  for  his  single  knock,  no  bungling 
messenger  rapped  at  it  by  mistake.  The  ever- 
greens, too,  in  the  strip  of  garden,  were  in 
keeping  with  the  rest ;  they  grew  thick-leaved 
and  somber,  as  if  they  did  their  duty  seriously 
and  knew  it ;  they  were  never  guilty  of  any 
spring  freaks,  and  had  no  patience  with  the 
gadding  butterflies  and  the  likes  of  them. 

This  is  what  Mistress  Horn  would  have 
turned  to. 

At  the  side  of  the  house  was  a  little  wicket- 
gate  ;  it  fell  back  at  the  gentlest  push,  and  was 
never  secured  with  more  than  a  bit  of  string 
that  went  round  the  post.  A  short  passage 
led  to  the  homely  side  door  that  opened  into 
the  kitchen,  where  a  cheery  fire  smirked  and 


2o      MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

blinked  a  welcome  to  all  comers — the  front- 
room  grate  had  ornamental  shavings.  A  tall- 
backed,  comfortable  old  chair  stood  at  one 
side  of  the  fire-place.  On  the  mantel-piece 
above,  among  the  polished  brass,  were  little 
odds  and  ends  of  Mr.  Horn's.  The  smell  of 
sweet  herbs  greeted  one  from  the  paper  bags  ; 
the  well-wrapt  hams  quickened  one's  appetite ; 
and  between  the  bars  that  stretched  from  two 
oak  beams  peeped  sundry  sticks  and  spuds.  All 
here  was  cozy,  homely,  and  snug. 

This  personified  Mister  Horn.  And  as  the 
two  parts  suited  each  other,  so  well  did  his  bet- 
ter half  suit  Mister  Horn.  Tall,  handsome, 
and  somewhat  stately  in  her  ways,  folks  said 
that  she  was  proud  ;  but  those  who  knew  her 
best  felt  that  she  was  the  very  woman  for  the 
free  and  easy,  the  careless  and  irregular,  Mister 
Horn.  With  her  every  thing  was  serious ; 
duty  was  the  whole  ten  commandments,  the 
law,  and  the  prophets  ;  and  duty  meant  hard 
work,  almost  uneasy  cleanliness,  and  keeping 
one's  self  for  the  most  part  to  one's  self.  Care- 
ful and  thrifty,  to  her  common-sense  and  quick 
discernment  Mister  Horn's  industry  was  in- 
debted for  his  success  in  life  ;  and  if  he  some- 


We  Go  Home  with  Mister  Horn.         2 1 

times  gave  with  a  hint  that  she  shouldn't  know 
of  it,  it  was  through  her  good  management 
that  he  had  so  much  to  give.  Indeed,  if  the 
truth  were  all  told,  he  owed  the  very  "  Mister  " 
itself  to  her  ways,  and  to  the  respectable  look 
that  she  always  gave  to  things. 

By  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening  supper  and 
prayers  were  over.  In  those  parts  civilization 
had  not  reached  that  pitch  of  folly  that  eats 
heartily  at  ten,  and  then  with  the  digestion 
at  full  work,  goes  to  bed  to  rest.  Now,  seated 
in  his  high-backed  chair,  was  the  time  that 
Mister  Horn  loved  a  chat. 

The  sun  itself  has  spots,  and  Mister  Horn 
was  not  perfect. 

Mister  Horn  was  not  perfect,  we  have  said. 
He  smoked,  and  added  to  the  fault  as  his  better 
half  explained  to  visitors :  "  I  shouldn't  mind 
so  much  if  he'd  take  a  clean  white  pipe,  but 
that  short  black  thing  is  so  very  common  look- 
ing !  I  tell  him  it's  disgraceful."  Yet  here,  too, 
they  suited  each  other.  The  front  rooms  were 
shuttered  and  locked,  while  the  cozy  kitchen  sat 
up  with  the  blinking  fire  and  the  purring  cat. 
In  other  words,  the  better  half  retired  early — 
then  Mister  Horn  smoked  his  pipe  in  peace. 


22     MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

Now  he  would  tell  of  himself — How  he  was 
a  little  fellow  when  the  sad  tidings  reached 
England  that  the  heroic  Dr.  Coke  had  died  on 
his  way  to  India,  and  had  been  buried  at  sea. 
He  heard  of  the  young  missionaries  who  had 
gone  with  him,  left  to  land  among  strangers  in 
that  strange  country  far  away,  and  the  story 
rilled  the  lad's  heart  with  grief  for  them.  Very 
poor,  he  could  do  but  little,  but  that  little  he 
could  and  would  do  with  all  his  might.  Rising 
before  daybreak  he  went  out  to  sweep  the  roads, 
and  thus  to  raise  a  few  half-pence  for  the  poor 
missionaries.  No  contribution  was  ever  more 
hardly  earned  or  more  willingly  given  than  the 
"  small  sums  "  of  this  little  subscriber. 

In  early  life  he  was  converted. 

In  his  case  conversion  meant  the  breaking 
in  of  a  wonderful  love  upon  his  cold  and  lonely 
life.  It  was  a  love  that  lifted  him  right  out  of 
his  hardships  and  poverty.  It  made  the  blue 
heaven  bend  over  him  in  tender  care :  it  sent 
the  sun  to  shine  for  his  joy,  and  the  cooling 
breeze  for  his  refreshing.  Away  in  the  lonely 
fields  this  love  brought  him  a  constant  com- 
munion and  an  abiding  gladness ;  and  when 
he  came  home  to  his  poor  lodgings  this  love 


We  Go  Home  with  Mister  Horn.          23 

was  father,  and  mother,  and  brother,  and  all 
to  him.  So  with  all  the  generosity  of  boyhood 
he  counted  it  his  greatest  delight,  as  much  as 
his  sacred  duty,  to  testify  his  gratitude  for 
such  wondrous  love  in  any  way  he  could. 
Thus  early  the  truth  had  burned  its  way  into 
his  innermost  being  :  "  The  Son  of  God  loved 
me,  and  gave  himself  for  me."  From  the  first 
he  began  to  think  about  the  claims  of  God's 
work.  His  favorite  maxim  was  this  :  "  A  man 
ought  to  think  as  much  about  giving  as  about 
getting."  And  thus  early  he  put  it  into 
practice.  He  has  told  us  that  in  those  days 
flour  was  at  war  prices — a  phrase  happily  un- 
known to  this  generation.  He  earned  only 
six  shillings  a  week,  and  out  of  that  he  had  to 
pay  for  lodging  as  well  as  living.  But  what- 
ever else  went  short,  he  felt  that  he  must 
acknowledge  the  goodness  of  the  Lord  who 
gave  him  all  that  he  had.  He  took  the  old 
Methodist  rule  as  the  limit  downward,  not  up- 
ward :  "  Every  member  contributes  one  penny 
weekly,  (unless  he  is  in  extreme  poverty,)  and 
one  shilling  quarterly."  And  he  felt  that  his 
giving  was  none  the  less  acceptable  because  it 
cost  him  much.  He  often  referred  to  it  in  later 


24     MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

times.  "  There's  one  thing  that  lots  of  good 
people  never  will  know  in  this  world — and  'tis 
one  o'  them  that  we  sha'n't  know  any  thing 
about  in  heaven  itself — the  joy  of  really  pinch- 
ing yourself  to  give.  I  often  think  that  that 
is  the  blessed  thing  about  being  hard  up  when 
you  do  give — then  you  feel  it." 

It  was  with  a  merry  laugh  that  he  would 
tell  the  young  members  how  that,  when  he  had 
been  at  the  class-meeting  three  or  four  times, 
he  said  one  evening,  "  Put  me  down,  please, 
for  a  penny  a  week.  The  leader  looked  at 
me  through  his  spectacles  and  opened  his 
mouth  wide,  and  after  a  minute  or  two  said, 
'  What ! '  as  if  he  were  quite  frightened." 

"  A  penny  a  week,  sir,"  I  said,  putting  down 
the  money  for  each  evening  that  I  had  been  at 
class.  The  leader  was  what  you  might  call  a 
common  sort  of  a  man,  for  they  are  the  com- 
monest sort  of  people  that  I  know — he  thought 
that  the  less  he  could  give  the  better,  and  if 
he  could  do  without  giving  at  all  it  would  be 
better  still.  Just  as  if  the  Lord  did  not  see 
what  was  left  behind ;  and  just  as  if  he  never 
said,  "  Bring  ye  all  the  tithes  into  the  store- 
house." The  man  was  in  good  work,  and  had 


We  Go  Home  with  Mister  Horn.         25 

no  family,  and  yet  a  penny  a  week  was  all  that 
he  gave.  It  looked  so  bad  for  a  lad  like  I  was 
to  give  so  much,  and  it  quite  shocked  him. 

"  You  can't  afford  it,  Jim,  you  know  you 
can't,"  he  said.  "  Put  it  down,  sir,"  I  replied, 
"put  it  down.  There  it  is,  and  there  it  will 
be  as  long  as  ever  I've  got  the  love  of  Jesus  in 
my  heart." 

Soon  after  that  came  the  time  for  the  re- 
newal of  the  quarterly  tickets.  The  leader 
headed  the  list  with  what  Mister  Horn  used 
to  refer  to  as  a  "  beggarly  threepenny  bit." 
"  Why,  the  fellow  spent  twice  as  much  in  the 
week  on  tobacco,"  he  would  say  indignantly,  as 
if  interrupting  himself — "  sixpence  for  smoke 
and  threepence  for  the  work  of  God  !  " 

Well,  the  minister  went  through  the  names, 
and  they  all  sang  to  the  low  key  that  had  been 
pitched,  till  they  came  to  my  name.  Then 
what  did  the  leader  does  but  leans  over  and 
whispers  to  the  minister  that  I  was  young,  and 
could  not  give  any  thing,  and  that  he  had  better 
not  ask  me.  The  minister  nodded  his  head, 
and  took  up  the  hymn-book. 

"  Please,  sir,  I  love  God  too,"  I  said:  "why 
mayn't  I  give  any  thing?" 


26      MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

The  minister  looked  at  me  kindly  and  said, 
"  Brother  Skimes  tells  me  that  you  can't  afford 
any  thing." 

"  The  rule  says  a  shilling  at  least,  sir,  except 
in  extreme  poverty,  and  that  isn't  the  state  of 
any  of  us,  I  am  sure." 

"  '  A  shilling ! '  cried  the  leader,  and  he 
jumped  off  his  seat  as  if  some  one  had  pricked 
him.  I  think,  perhaps,  I  had.  'A  shilling! 
you  know  you  can't  do  it.'  " 

"  There's  the  money,  sir,"  said  I,  as  I  put  the 
shilling  on  the  table.  "  I  would  afford  it  some- 
how, sir,  however  it  might  pinch  me."  And  I 
looked  at  Brother  Skimes  so  much  as  to  say, 
"  though  it  should  even  put  my  pipe  out." 

"  Aye,  I  used  to  pinch  myself,  too,"  con- 
tinued Mister  Horn.  "  More  than  once  I've 
gone  on  dry  bread,  and  then  done  so  much  as 
any  of  'em.  Now  and  then  I  used  to  buy  a 
lot  of  broken  herrings  for  sixpence,  and  then  I 
had  a  bit  of  a  relish.  You  know  they  say  that 
there's  nothing  like  bitters  to  give  you  an  ap- 
petite, and  it  is  when  you  give  away  what  you 
want  that  you  enjoy  what's  left.  You  try  it — 
take  and  give  away  half  your  dinner:  and 
then  the  other  half!  bless  ye,  the  Lord  Mayor 


We  Go  Home  with  Mister  Horn.          27 

of  London  might  envy  it.  If  any  body  wants 
to  taste  a  bit  o'  real  joy,  let  'em  just  go  and 
do  that.  I've  often  turned  it  over  in  my  mind 
that  love  is  real  true  love  when  it  has  got  a  bit 
of  real,  hard,  pinchin'  sacrifice  about  it,  and 
not  till  then.  Kindness  and  pity  will  give 
you,  perhaps,  what  it  thinks  it  can  do  without, 
but  love  gives  every  thing.  '  He  spared  not 
his  own  Son' — that  is  love.  '  Hereby  perceive 
we  the  love  of  God,  because  he  laid  down  his 
life  for  us.' 

"  Kindness  and  pity  will  send  the  scraps  and 
bones  out  to  the  shivering  beggar  at  the  door. 
But  love  brings  him  in  and  gives  up  its  place 
and  its  plate,  and  will  stand  behind  waiting 
and  helping.  Ah,  that's  how  the  blessed  Lord 
treated  us  when  we  came  home  from  the  far 
country  perishing  with  hunger.  No  old  cast- 
off  clothes,  but  the  best  robes.  No  scraps,  all 
bones  and  crusts,  but  the  fatted  calf.  No 
pitiful  words,  but  himself.  His  arms  about 
the  neck,  and  his  kiss  upon  the  cheek,  and  all 
his  heart  to  welcome  us.  But  we,  when  he 
comes  to  ask  any  thing  of  us,  we  keep  him 
waiting  at  the  door  for  an  answer,  and  then  we 
send  him  out  our  miserable  scrapings,  just 


28      MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

what  we  think  we  can  spare  without  feeling  it. 
The  wonder  is  that  he  doesn't  come  and  take 
it  all  by  force,  he  who  is  the  King  and  Lord 
of  all,  and  who  has  only  put  us  in  as  his  poor 
stewards.  Depend  upon  it,  we  don't  know 
much  about  love,  if  love  don't  pinch  us  a  bit 
now  and  then." 


More  of  Mister  Horn.  29 


CHAPTER  III. 

SHOWS     US    SOMETHING     MORE     OF     MISTER 
HORN. 

HUS  Mister 
Horn  began. 
Little  won- 
der the  man 
prospered. 
He  would  at 
times  tell,  in 
his  own  pe- 
culiar man- 
ner, how  he 
managed  to 
get  on  :  — 


tt 

I  said  that 

would  give,  somehow.  Well,  that  brought  me 
into  a  trick  o'  keeping  both  eyes  open  to  see  how 
I  could  pick  up  a  shilling  a  week  more  wages,  so 
I  kept  bettering  myself  all  along.  Mind  you,  I 
didn't  do  it  for  myself.  I  did  it  because  I  felt 


3O      MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

I  couldn't  anyhow  do  enough  for  Him  who 
was  so  good  to  me.  But  I  found  the  more  I 
gave  away  the  more  I  had  to  give.  It's  the 
same  all  through  God's  world.  When  the 
poor  prodigal  lad  lived  to  please  himself  he 
soon  came  to  grief;  he  had  spent  all,  and  began 
to  be  in  want.  But  when  he'd  come  home, 
and  had  given  up  thinking  about  himself,  and 
wanted  to  serve  his  father  and  to  please  him, 
why,  then  he  got  the  best  robe  and  the  fatted 
calf,  and  began  to  be  merry — began  to  be 
merry ;  ay,  that's  a  right  kind  of  merrymaking 
that  needn't  ever  have  an  ending,  when  a  man 
lives  to  please  his  Father  and  to  serve  him. 
Let  a  man  count  that  he's  the  Lord 's  hired 
servant,  and  he'll  get  good  wages — enough  and 
to  spare.  But  let  a  man  count  that  he's  his 
own  master,  and  that  he'll  do  what  he  likes 
with  his  own,  and  that  man  '11  have  a  discon- 
tented servant  and  a  bad  master  all  in  one. 
I've  spent  money  in  a  goodish  many  ways, 
and  I  reckon  that  there's  only  one  way  that  I 
spent  and  never  wished  a  farthing  of  it  back 
again — that's  what  I've  given  to  the  Lord's 
work." 

Mister  Horn's  greatest  achievement  in  the 


More  of  Mister  Horn.  3 1 

way  of  giving  was  when  the  new  chapel  was 
built  at  Gippington,  the  circuit  town. 

He  refused  to  make  any  promise.  He  would 
do  what  he  could,  he  said.  Folks  knew  that 
this  was  not  a  hypocritical  way  of  doing  noth- 
ing, such  as  it  is  very  often ;  indeed  they  had 
already  settled  among  themselves  what  he 
would  do. 

"  He's  good  for  five  pounds,"  said  Jim  Nig- 
gardly. 

"  He's  good  for  ten,"  said  others  with  larger 
hearts,  that  measured  him  better. 

But  his  old  friend  Chaffer  shook  his  little 
head  at  both,  and  said,  with  husky,  broken 
voice,  "  There's  no  knowin'  what  he's  good 
for,  if  he  on'y  get  it  in  his  mind — he's  a  won- 
der is  Mister  Horn."  Old  Friend  Chaffer  was 
right. 

Mister  Horn  turned  it  over,  prayed  about  it, 
and  at  length  made  up  his  mind  as  to  what  he 
would  do. 

The  passage  on  which  he  had  been  preaching 
lately  kept  ringing  in  his  head,  like  the  music 
of  a  sweet  song,  "The  Son  of  God  who  loved 
me,  and  gave  himself  for  me."  It  was  as  he 
walked  home  one  Sunday  evening  with  this 


32      MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

text  filling  his  heart  and  soul  that  it  occurred 
to  him.  The  clear  frosty  air  made  the  Novem- 
ber sky  to  sparkle  brilliantly  with  the  stars, 
forcing  him  to  consider  the  heavens,  as  he 
came  along  in  his  lonely  walk.  He  thought  of 
their  number — of  their  vastness.  He  thought 
how  that,  night  after  night,  they  had  looked 
down  upon  the  changeful,  wearied  world,  the 
same  as  when  Abraham  had  read  in  them  the 
expression  and  seal  of  the  promise  ;  the  same  as 
when  David  had  watched  them  from  the  midst 
of  his  flock  and  wondered  at  the  Lord's  mind- 
fulness  of  man  ;  the  same  as  when  they  hung 
over  Him  who  in  the  still  evening  passed  up 
to  the  mountain-top,  and  with  them  as  his 
only  witnesses,  spent  the  night  in  prayer. 
Then  adoringly  he  thought  of  the  Hand  that 
made  them.  "He giveth  the  stars,''1  said  Mister 
Horn  to  himself.  "  Ah,  how  he  loves  to  give 
—he  might  have  doled  one  here  and  another 
there.  But  that  wouldn't  be  like  Him."  And 
he  stood  and  looked  overhead-;  then  slowly 
around  him  :  "  Millions  of  them  !  millions,"  he 
cried.  "O,  my  God  and  Father,  what  a  great 
giving  thine  is !  Right  royal !  Nay,  never  a 
king  gave  so,  'tis  only  like  thyself — thou  lovest 


More  of  Mister  Horn.  33 

to  give,  only  giving  such  millions  could  satisfy 
thee." 

Then,  with  deepening  emotion  and  intenser 
adoration  he  thought  how  far  away  in  the  in- 
finite space  was  the  throne  of  that  glorious  Lord 
who  is  the  light  of  sun,  and  moon,  and  star. 
\Yith  a  new  meaning  that  thrilled  him  came 
the  text  of  the  evening — "  HE  loved  me,  and 
gave  HIMSELF  for  ME.  Himself  for  me!  "  he 
repeated  aloud,  "  Himself  for  me  ! "  And 
grateful  love  filled  his  soul,  and  overflowed  in 
tears  of  adoring  joy. 

This  emotion  was  yet  lingering  within  him  as 
he  thought  suddenly  of  the  new  chapel.  What 
should  he  "  render  to  the  Lord  for  all  his  ben- 
efits?" He  had  saved  some  little  money, 
should  he  give  that  ?  No,  that  would  not  do  ; 
he  wanted  to  feel  that  he  was  somehow  giving 
himself.  He  loved  me,  and  gave  himself  for 
me — this  was  the  wonderful,  love  by  which  his 
heart  was  prompted,  and  such  a  motive  was 
not  easily  satisfied.  He  had  walked  some  dis- 
tance in  perplexity,  and  now  was  coming  near 
to  his  own  house.  At  length  it  was  evident 
that  Mister  Horn  had  "  got  it  into  his  mind," 
as  old  Chaffer  put  it.  The  pause  in  the  path 


34      MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

by  which  he  was  crossing  the  field,  the  uplifted 
ash  stick,  the  moment's  suspense,  then  the  vig- 
orous thrust  and  the  rapid  strides  forward,  an- 
nounced some  great  decision.  Mister  Horn 
would  live  on  what  he  had  saved,  and  for  one 
year  would  give  all  that  he  could  get  to  the 
Lord.  "  It'll  be  like  giving  myself,"  he  cried, 
"  body,  soul,  and  spirit." 

The  resolution  thus  formed  was  bravely  car- 
ried out.  It  was  the  hardest  year  of  his  hard- 
working life.  Neighbors  heard  him  astir  at 
earliest  dawn,  his  friends  wondered  what  made 
him  so  miserly  of  his  time.  He  knew  very 
well  that  he  could  keep  no  secret  from  his 
wife,  so  he  told  her  straight  out  that  night, 
and  then  went  to  sleep  before  she  had  suffi- 
cient time  to  object.  But  all  the  rest  of  the 
village  was  kept  wondering  until  the  end  of 
the  year.  It  was  at  a  meeting  for  the  new 
chapel  that  the  pent-up  secret  came  out.  A 
subscription  was  placed  in  the  minister's  hand 
with  a  paper  worded  thus  :  "  One  years  work, 
£100.  '  He  loved  me,  and  gave  himself  for 
me.'  J.  H." 

"  That  was  the  happiest  year  of  my  life," 
Mister  Horn  said  whenever  he  told  of  it. 


More  of  Mister  Horn.  35 

"  You  reckon  Sunday  a  good  day,  because  in 
it  you  do  no  manner  of  work.  But  there's 
something  better  than  Sundays,  and  that's 
where  they  rest  not  day  or  night  from  their 
labors.  And  I  never  felt  so  much  like  being 
one  of  them  as  I  did  then.  I  was  sinking  a 
well  a  good  part  of  the  time,  and  very  often  I 
used  to  think  about  it  down  in  the  still,  damp 
darkness,  hearing  nothing  but  the  gloomy 
echoes  of  my  own  tools,  and  now  and  then  a 
bit  o'  clay  that  went  splashing  into  the  water 
sixty  feet  below,  sounding  like  '  ashes  to 
ashes,'  as  I  stood  on  the  shaking  plank.  I 
used  to  think  that  they  up  in  their  glory,  and 
me  down  in  my  well,  were  both  doing  the 
same  thing,  for  all  that  we  were  such  a  long 
way  off;  we  were  both  working  for  the  same 
Lord,  and  we  both  wanted  to  do  as  much  as 
ever  we  could.  That  was  a  happy  year." 


36      MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

INTRODUCES  US  TO  JAMES  NIGGARDLY. 

ISTER  HORN 
had  one  sore 
trouble.  He 
thought  of  it, 
talked  of  it, 
prayed  about 
it,  and  with 
all  his  heart 

I 
i 

set  himself  to 
remedy  it,  if 
possible : — It 
was  concern- 
ing the  JIM 
NIGGARDLY 
before  and  so  sadly  mentioned. 

"  James  Niggardly,  Esquire,  Stukeville,"  was 
the  address  on  his  letters,  but  with  Mister  Horn 
he  was  never  any  thing  else  than  plain  Jim. 
He  was  by  no  means  what  his  name  led  one  to 
expect  in  appearance — nothing  of  the  tradi- 


Introduces  us  to  James  Niggardly.        37 

tional  Mr.  Gripeman  or  Mr.  Money-love ;  his 
were  not  the  pinched  features,  the  half-starved, 
withered  frame,  the  threadbare  coat.  Some- 
what about  the  middle  height,  stout,  and  rather 
good-looking,  the  head  thrown  back  and  the 
hair  brushed  up  to  make  the  most  of  himself, 
a  gold  chain  spanning  the  rounded  expanse  of 
waistcoat,  the  thumbs  thrust  into  the  arm-holes 
— such  was  James  Niggardly's  portrait.  A 
large  man  with  a  gold  chain  was  the  impression 
he  generally  made  at  first.  The  impression  was 
confirmed  when  he  began  to  speak.  There  was 
a  trick  of  hesitancy  and  repetition  at  the  com- 
mencement of  his  sentences,  and  as  each  sen- 
tence began  with  "  I,"  it  came  out  thus: — 

"  I,  em,  I— I— I— eh  " 

So  that  one  came  to  think  of  him  as  if  these 
five  or  six  "  Fs"  had  been  rolled  into  one  big 
man  with  a  gold  chain.  His  signature  was  "  I. 
Niggardly."  There  it  was  in  imposing  letters 
on  the  office  door.  It  stood  prominent  on  the 
coal-carts,  and  the  railway  trucks  carried  it  to 
and  fro  in  important  letters.  In  fact,  the  "  I  " 
ran  through  every  thing,  from  the  big  man 
himself  down  to  the  brass  seal  that  lay  on  the 
office  desk. 


38      MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

He  had  commenced  life  in  a  very  humble 
way,  so  humble,  indeed,  that  the  "  I  "  had  not 
appeared,  and  he  was  only  plain  Jim,  who  went 
selling  small  quantities  of  coal  from  house  to 
house.  But  the  railway  came,  and  then  he 
opened  a  coal  store,  to  which  he  kept  grafting 
other  branches  that  all  bore  some  crop  of 
golden  fruit,  until  it  was  no  secret  that  he  was 
worth  five  or  six  hundred  a  year. 

Worth,  I  have  said ;  well,  yes.  And  yet 
what  did  it  mean  ?  Of  all  the  truths  that  men 
accidentally  utter  in  the  phrases  of  every  day, 
and  of  all  the  untruths,  there  is  none  more 
suggestive  than  this — What  is  a  man  worth  ? 
James  Niggardly  was  worth  five  or  six  hundred 
pounds  a  year !  Well,  there  was  a  time  when 
he  was  worth  a  good  deal  more  than  that — 
when  he  was  worth  more  than  all  the  cyphers 
that  you  could  tack  on  to  it.  It  was  when  he 
was  a  happy  man  on  thirty  shillings  a  week, 
and  worked  hard  with  his  own  hands  to  get  it 
— then  James  Niggardly  was  worth  more ; 
body,  soul,  and  spirit.  It  was  when,  after  the 
hard  day's  work,  the  old  horse  was  made  com- 
fortable in  the  stable,  and  the  somewhat  rick- 
etty  cart  was  set  up  under  the  shed,  and  Jim 


Introduces  us  to  James  Niggardly.        39 

had  gone  through  a  process  of  splashing  and 
blowing,  and  then,  all  radiant  and  happy,  came 
to  fill  the  kettle,  and  to  look  after  the  dear  old 
mother,  who  could  do  little  else  than  sit  croon- 
ing by  the  fire  all  day  long.  It  was  when  he 
sat  down  to  tell  all  that  he  could  think  of  that 
would  interest  her,  sitting  there  carefully  toast- 
ing a  bit  of  bread  as  a  relish  for  the  old  lady's 
tea,  afterward  removing  the  crust  for  his  own 
more  active  jaws,  while  the  old  lady's  face  glad- 
dened into  a  pleasant  pride  at  the  kindly  ways 
of  her  Jim.  It  was  when  he  gathered  with  the 
little  company  at  the  prayer-meeting,  and 
Heaven  honored  him,  and  men  felt  that  he  had 
power  with  God  and  prevailed  ;  it  was  when 
he  sat  in  the  midst  of  the  Sunday-school  class 
and  told  them  of  the  loving  Saviour  until  their 
hearts  were  moved,  and  they  went  home 
strangely  thoughtful  and  impressed ;  it  was 
when  godly  old  men  and  women  brightened 
as  Jim  dropped  in  for  a  bit  of  prayer,  and  they 
pressed  him  with  their  bony  hands  and  blessed 
him  with  their  dying  lips — then  he  was  worth 
more,  tenfold  more,  a  hundredfold  more,  worth 
more  to  God,  worth  more  to  himself.  What 
is  a  man  ivortli  ?  Worth  miserably  little  if  he 


40      MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

is  only  worth  what  he  has  in  his  pocket,  or 
what  he  sets  down  in  his  income-tax  paper. 
You  are  right  to  count  a  man's  worth  by  his 
gold,  and  robes,  and  luxuries — but  let  it  be  by 
the  gold  of  pure  love,  by  the  white  robes  of 
truth  and  meekness,  by  the  delicious  luxury  of 
a  blameless  conscience,  of  doing  good,  of  bless- 
ing others ;  so  only  should  you  count  what  a 
God-made  man  is  worth. 

But  thus  estimated,  James  Niggardly,  with 
his  five  hundred  a  year,  was  a  pauper.     The 
very  appearance  of  the  man  betrayed  his  bank- 
ruptcy.    The  old  look  of  quiet   contentment 
was  gone,  and  in  its  place  was  an  anxious  and 
somewhat  crafty  expression ;  the  kindly  ways 
had  changed  into  an   irritable,  almost  angry, 
tone    and  manner.     His  wife  could  tell  that 
the  humble  Jim  who  courted  her  some  twenty 
years  before,  and  this  James  Niggardly, Esquire, 
were  two  different  men.     Sometimes  people 
thought  that  she  sighed  for  the  dear  old  Jim 
who  used  to  be — he  whose  face  was  often  black 
with  coal-dust,  and  whose  cheery  voice  had 
gladdened  her  into  many  a  blush  as  it  sounded 
through  the  little  village  street  with  its  cry  of 
"  Coal,  ho  !  coal,  coal,  coal,  ho  !  " 


Introduces  us  to  James  Niggardly.        41 

If  you  wanted  him  now  you  would  never 
think  of  looking  for  him  at  the  prayer-meet- 
ing. True,  his  name  was  on  the  class  book  as 
a  member  of  the  Society  under  Mister  Horn's 
care,  but  only  now  and  then  a  solitary  P  broke 
the  long  line  of  A's.  Mr.  Horn  read  his  name 
every  week,  but  usually  the  searching  look 
round  the  room  was  followed  by  a  sigh.  "  '  A' 
again,"  he  said,  as  he  turned  to  his  book,  and 
the  pencil  made  three  heavy  strokes.  For 
Mister  Horn  always  put  a  capital  A — it  was 
associated  in  his  mind  in  some  roundabout 
way  with  a  capital  offense,  and  this  was  a  sort 
of  capital  punishment. 

Sunday  still  found  James  Niggardly  usually 
in  his  place  at  Tattingham  Chapel.  There  he 
sat  in  the  one  crimson-curtained  pew  just  in- 
side the  door,  with  his  wife  and  three  daugh- 
ters. Even  on  "  collection  Sundays"  they  were 
all  there,  each  with  a  threepenny  bit — what  a 
pity  there  are  no  silver  pennies  !  James  Nig- 
gardly, Esquire,  himself,  gave  sixpence.  Once 
Mister  Horn  hoped  that  the  sermon  had  done 
him  good,  for  he  actually  gave  a  shilling,  but  at 
night  he  made  up  for  it  by  politely  bowing  to 
the  plate,  so  that  it  came  to  just  the  same  thing. 


42      MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

Now    this    James    Niggardly,    Esquire,    of 
Stukeville,  was  the  greatest  hinderance  that 
"the  cause"  at  Tattingham  ever  had.     The 
old  parish  squire  had  been  a  hinderance  when 
for  years  he  refused  the  ground  for  the  chapel, 
but  the  little  Society  had  prayed  about  it  until 
they  got  the  land  all  for  nothing.     The  old 
parson  had  been  a  hinderance  when  he  laid  it 
down  that  the  allotments  were  to  grow  only 
Church  potatoes,  and   that  "  they  who  could 
do  without  him  on  Sundays  might  do  without 
him  on  Mondays,  too."     He  did  not  even  say 
to  them,  "  Be  ye  warmed  and  filled  " — much 
less  suffer  their  Nonconforming  bodies  to  be 
comforted  by  parish  blankets  and  coals,  and 
sundry  charities  of  which  he  was  trustee.     In 
spite  of  that  the  little  Society  kept  up  its  own 
fire  and  flourished.     But  this  James  Niggardly 
in  the  midst  was  a  real  hinderance.   The  others, 
after  all,  were  outside,  but  this  man  seemed  to 
leave  the  door  open  for  all  the  bleak  winds  of 
heaven,  so  that  every  body  was   chilled  and 
miserable.     If  any  thing  were  to  be  done  they 
all  waited  for  James  Niggardly  to  start  it ;  and 
there  were  so  many  buts  and  ifs,  so  many  fault 
findings   and   grumblings,  so   many  wretched  ' 


Introduces  us  to  James  Niggardly.        43 

objections,  and  when  he  did  give  it  was  "  pitched 
in  so  low  a  key,"  as  Mister  Horn  said,  that  it 
hindered  a  great  deal  more  than  it  helped. 
The  fact  was,  that  if  it  had  not  been  for  his 
amiable  wife  and  useful  daughters,  the  sooner 
he  had  taken  himself  clean  away,  the  better 
would  it  have  been  for  the  "  cause  "  and  all 
belonging  to  it. 

Mister  Horn,  as  he  told  Bill  Smith,  had 
often  given  James  Niggardly  a  bit  of  his  mind. 
He  had  known  Jim  from  a  boy,  had  given  him 
his  first  start  in  life,  had  directed  and  advised 
him  in  all  the  steps  of  his  growing  prosperity, 
and  now  he  grieved  deeply  as  he  saw  this  root 
of  all  evil  thus  growing  and  flourishing  in  his 
soul.  Mister  Horn  was  not  the  man  to  shirk 
the  duty,  and  when  he  did  speak,  the  words 
were  not  so  rounded  and  polished  as  to  "  glide 
off  like  water  from  a  duck's  back,"  as  he  said. 
When  he  spoke  it  was  pointed  and  well  aimed, 
and  it  stuck  just  where  he  meant  it  to  stick. 
"  Music  is  all  very  nice  and  pretty,"  he  once 
said  to  an  elegant  young  preacher,  "  but  you 
know  it  is  the  powder  and  shot  that  does  the 
work." 

The   quarter   was   drawing  to  a  close,  and 


44      MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

James  Niggardly,  Esquire,  was  somewhat  in 
arrears  with  his  class-money.  It  was  no  great 
amount,  although  it  was  thirteen  weeks.  The 
noble  sum  of  a  penny  a  week  and  a  shilling  a 
quarter  was  all  that  he  owed.  Mister  Horn, 
with  half  as  much  to  live  upon,  gave  a  pound  for 
the  ticket  column,  and  thirteen  shillings  filled 
up  the  other  page.  But  Mister  Horn,  folks  said, 
was  a  "  wonder ;  "  and,  remarkably  enough  in 
this  ambitious  world,  nobody  else  coveted  a 
similar  distinction. 

It  was  about  supper-time  that  Mister  Horn 
called  at  Stukeville  for  the  class  money.  Every 
thing  was  very  nice  ;  extravagant,  he  thought, 
in  his  simplicity.  He  would  not  join  them ; 
he  would  sit  by  the  fire-place  until  they  had 
finished. 

"  I  don't  see,  Mister  Horn,  why  I  shouldn't 
enjoy  myself,"  said  Jim  Niggardly,  guessing 
the  visitor's  thought,  and  feeling  that  the  little 
gray  eyes  were  upon  him.  "  I've  worked  hard 
for  my  money,"  and  he  helped  himself  to  a 
dainty  slice. 

"Umph!"  grunted  Mister  Horn  in  reply, 
and  he  thought  of  the  penny  a  week  and  the 
shilling  a  quarter. 


Introduces  us  to  James  Niggardly.        45 

The  supper  finished,  they  sat  opposite  each 
other  in  front  of  the  fire.  They  were  alone, 
and  now  Mister  Horn  brought  his  chair  nearer 
his  friend :  he  liked  to  get  at  a  man,  as  he 
called  it.  He  went  right  to  the  point  at  once. 

"  Look  here,  Jim,  how  can  you  satisfy  your- 
self with  giving  what  you  do  to  the  work  of 
God?  Two  shillings  and  a  penny  is  all  that 
you  give  in  a  quarter,  besides  a  sixpence  that 
they  screw  out  of  you  at  a  collection  now  and 
then." 

"  Ah,  times  are  hard,  Mister  Horn,  times  are 
hard,  you  know,"  said  Jim,  wiping  his  mouth 
after  he  had  finished  his  glass  of  Sherry. 

Mister  Horn's  sharp  eye  followed  the  hand 
as  it  put  down  the  glass.  After  a  minute's 
silence  he  rose  to  go,  and  held  out  his  hand. 
"  Well,  good-night,  Jim — good-night.  My  Mas- 
ter wants  an  answer,  for  I  have  come  in  his 
name,  you  know,  and  I  am  sure  my  blessed 
Master  would  never  ask  for  any  thing  from  a 
man  who  could  not  afford  it,  much  less  would 
he  beg  for  it.  So  I'll  go  home  and  tell  him 
that  times  are  hard  with  Jim  Niggardly,  and 
that  he  has  got  nothing  to  give.  Good-night, 
Jim." 


46     MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

"  O,  don't  be  in  a  hurry,  Mister  Horn,  I  didn't 
mean  that  exactly.  You  always  take  one  up  so 
sharp,"  and  Jim  was  somewhat  frightened  at 
returning  such  an  answer. 

"  I  mean  it  right  enough,  Jim.  There  are 
times  when  a  man  can't  give  what  he  would 
like  to,  and  he  does  right  to  speak  out  and  say 
so,  whatever  folks  may  say  or  think.  They 
have  got  no  business  to  pry  into  any  man's 
private  matters.  Jesus  gave  gifts  among  men, 
some  apostles,  and  some  prophets,  and  some 
evangelists,  but  he  didn't  give  any  beggars,  and 
I  don't  believe  he  wants  any,  either.  I  like 
my  '  Yes,'  or  '  No,'  when  I  come  in  the  Mas- 
ter's name,  and  then  I  go  straight  back  and 
tell  him  what  answer  I  get.  I  can  leave  him 
to  deal  with  it  then ;  and  he  can  deal  with  it, 
Jim.  When  he  sees  any  heart  set  upon  giving, 
why  he'll  send  an  angel  from  heaven,  if  it's 
only  with  a  mite  from  a  poor  widow.  And  if 
he  sees  it  kept  back  and  hoarded  up,  he  can 
deal  with  it." 

And  Mister  Horn  took  up  the  Bible  that 
was  lying  within  reach,  and  opened  it  at  the 
Book  of  Haggai — "  He  can  deal  with  it ;  listen 
to  this  :  '  Thus  said  the  Lord  of  hosts ; 


Introduces  us  to  James  Niggardly.        47 

Consider  your  ways.  Ye  have  sown  much 
and  bring  in  little;  ye  eat,  but  ye  have  not 
enough ;  ye  drink,  but  ye  are  not  filled  with 
drink ;  ye  clothe  you,  and  there  is  none  warm  ; 
and  he  that  earneth  wages,  earneth  wages  to 
put  it  into  a  bag  with  holes.  .  .  .  Ye  looked  for 
much,  and,  lo,  it  came  to  little;  and  when  ye 
brought  it  home,  I  did  blow  upon  it.  Why? 
saith  the  Lord  of  hosts.  Because  of  mine 
house  that  is  waste,  and  ye  run  every  man 
unto  his  own  house.'  They  said  the  times  were 
hard  whenever  it  was  for  the  Lord's  house, 
Jim." 

"  Really,  Mister  Horn,"  said  Jim,  taking  out 
the  two  shillings  and  a  penny,  "  you  always  do 
put  things  in  such  a  dreadful  way." 

Then  Mister  Horn  changed  his  tone.  "  Jim," 
he  cried  in  a  bantering  way,  "  there's  one  thing 
that  would  do  you  a  world  of  good.  Shall  I 
tell  you  what  it  is?" 

Pausing  a  moment,  Mister  Horn  went  on : 
"  It's  just  this,  to  have  your  butcher's  bill  for 
thirteen  weeks  only  come  to  two  shillings  and 
a  penny." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  James  Nig- 
gardly, Esquire,  looking  up  with  surprise. 


48      MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS 

"  Mean  what  I  say,"  Mister  Horn  continued. 
"  No,  not  the  butcher's  bill  only,  but  the  ba- 
ker's bill  too,  and  the  brewer's  bill,  aye,  and  the 
tailor's,  the  lot  of  'em  coming  to  two  shillings 
and  a  penny !  O  this  poor  body  of  thine  how 
it  would  fare ! "  laughed  Mister  Horn,  as  he 
thrust  his  thumb  where  Jim's  ribs  should  have 
been.  "  This  proud  flesh  of  thine  would  come 
down,  eh  friend  ?  This  broadcloth  would  look 
bare,  eh  ?  The  brewer's  supply  wouldn't  need 
a  dray  to  bring  it,  and  the  baker's  bill  wouldn't 
be  worth  calling  for  twice.  Two  shillings  and 
a  penny  a  quarter  for  Jim  Niggardly 's  body! 
O,  no,  no,  no,"  Mister  Horn  laughed,  "  two 
shillings  and  a  penny,  that's  only  for  his  soul, 
his  soul ! "  Then  Mister  Horn  spake  gravely. 
"  Two  and  a  penny,  Jim,  for  the  bread  of  life 
and  the  wine  of  the  kingdom,  for  the  white 
robe  and  the  hope  of  glory,  two  shillings  and  a 
penny  for  all !  " 

"  O,  but,  really,"  said  Jim,  annoyed,  "it's 
absurd  to  put  the  two  shillings  together  like 
that ;  we  don't  buy  heaven  in  that  style,  as  if 
it  were  sold  by  the  pound  or  the  yard." 

"  Is  it,  Jim,  is  it  so  very  absurd  ?  "  and  Mister 
Horn  spoke  yet  more  gravely,  "  What  your  body 


Introduces  us  to  James  Niggardly.        49 

would  be  on  two  and  a  penny  a  quarter,  your 
soul  is  more  like  than  I  care  to  see  it,  Jim." 
Mister  Horn  laid  his  hand  kindly  on  Jim's 
shoulder,  "  You've  starved  it,  you  know  as 
well  as  I  do ;  starved  it  till  it  can  hardly  get 
about ;  starved  it  till  it  can't  crawl  either  to 
prayer-meeting  or  class-meeting.  I  knew  the 
time,  and  you,  too,  when  it  had  decent  clothes 
as  ever  a  soul  wore.  Kindness,  love  to  God 
and  man ;  but  now  it's  all  rags  and  tatters, 
and  not  so  clean  as  it  used  to  be,  eh,  Jim  ?  Not 
so  absurd  after  all.  You're  starving  it  for  this 
prosperity  of  yours,  you  know  it  as  well  as  I 
do.  And  look  ye,  Jim  Niggardly,  ye'll  get 
the  worst  of  the  bargain  if  you  gain  the  whole 
world  and  give  in  exchange  for  it  even  this 
poor,  starved,  ragged  soul  of  yours." 

Jim  was  silent.  He  felt  truly  enough  that 
it  was  not  so  absurd  after  all. 

Mister  Horn  rose  to  leave.  "  Good-night, 
Jim,"  he  said,  holding  out  his  hand  :  "  I  came 
to  tell  you  what  I  thought  as  plainly  as  I 
could,  and  I  have  done  it.  If  you  don't  see  it 
now,  you'll  see  it  all  some  day,  and  God  grant 
that  it  may  not  be  too  late  in  the  day  to 
mend." 


50      MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

Then  Mister  Horn  went  home  to  bed,  and 
slept  like  a  man  who  had  done  his  duty  not 
unkindly.  Jim  Niggardly  went  to  bed,  too, 
but  somehow  did  not  rest  comfortably ; — his 
mind  was  not  at  ease. 


How  Old  Jowl  got  a  Dinner. 


CHAPTER  V. 

HOW  OLD  JOWL  GOT  A  DINNER. 

|ET  Jim  Nig- 
gardly was  in 
some  matters 
a  liberal  man. 
He  would,  for 
^instance,  have 
earnestly  cov- 
eted the  hon- 
jor  and  bless- 
ing of  being 
an  entertain- 
er of  angels, 
so  given  was 
he  to  the  vir- 
tue of  a  free  hospitality.  The  larger  custom- 
ers left  his  office  door  wiping  their  lips  approv- 
ingly ;  and  at  his  table  a  hearty  welcome  and 
more  than  enough  waited  for  every  guest.  Nor 
did  he  suffer  his  visitors  to  overlook  the  pro- 
vision made.  The  wine  was  urged  with  the 


52      MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

recommendation  :  "I  wont  say  it's  good,  but  if 
it  isn't,  good  can't  be  got  for  money ;  "  and  the 
price  of  luxuries  were  carefully  whispered  by 
him  as  "  between  ourselves." 

Some  said  Mister  Horn  was  too  strict,  some 
called  him  pig-headed,  and  that  he  believed  no 
one  was  right  but  himself.  At  any  rate  it  was 
true  that,  somehow  or  other,  he  wouldn't  see 
much  virtue  in  this,  nor  suffer  it  to  be  urged 
in  James  Niggardly's  defense. 

"Hospitable  is  he — good-hearted?"  Mister 
Horn  would  say,  waxing  hot  and  indignant. 
"  That's  just  what  I  can't  stand  about  him.  If 
James  Niggardly  ground  himself  down  to  a 
flint  stone,  if  he  grudged  every  penny  that  he 
spends,  I  could  understand  the  man.  If  he 
were  a  scraping,  hoarding  miser,  lean  and 
shriveled,  whose  hooked  fingers  would  like  to 
clutch  and  save  the  air  that  other  folks  breathe, 
and  the  sunlight  they  see  by,  I  could  make 
him  out  then.  The  worst  of  all  is,  that  he  can 
be  good-hearted  to  himself  or  to  any  body  else, 
except  to  the  loving  Father  who  gave  him  all 
that  he  has  got.  He  can  be  hospitable  to 
most,  but  he  will  keep  the  door  shut  against  the 
would-be  Guest  who  has  stood  and  knocked, 


How  Old  Jowl  got  a  Dinner.  53 

in  vain  entreating,  "  Open  unto  me !  "  As 
he  went  on,  the  tone  grew  more  tender  until 
the  voice  trembled  with  emotion. 

"  Yes,  Jim  Niggardly  can  be  generous  to  any 
body  except  to  the  blessed  Lord,  who  was  rich 
and  for  our  sakes  became  poor.  To  think  that 
he  should  grudge  any  thing  to  him  !  "  Again 
Mister  Horn  spoke  angrily:  "The  man  doesn't 
care  for  any  expense  but  what  goes  to  God's 
work.  His  house,  his  back,  his  belly,  must 
have  themselves  waited  on  and  paid  for ;  but 
God's  work  must  stand  out  in  the  cold  waiting 
hat  in  hand  for  the  scraps  that  are  left.  He 
will  spend  his  money  upon  his  horse  and  his 
dog  without  grudging ;  but  he  can't  give  away 
a  twentieth  part  of  what  they  cost  him  with- 
out grumbling  and  growling  about  it  for  a 
whole  week.  The  man  must  give  a  dinner  to 
his  friends  sometimes,  or  he  must  be  off  for  a 
month  at  the  sea-side,  and  he  pays  the  bills  as 
if  it  were  no  very  great  trouble.  But  ask  him 
for  five  shillings  for  old  Jowl !  Try  and  get  a 
guinea  out  of  him  for  the  Sunday-school ! 
Remind  him  that  a  shilling  is  all  he  gives  for 
his  class  ticket!  Why,  you'll  have  a  list  of 
dreadful  things  that  would  make  you  fancy 


54      MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

the  man  hadn't  a  ha'penny  to  bless  himself 
with.  No,  I  would  rather  see  Jim  Niggardly 
a  miser  out-and-out — to  himself  and  to  every 
body  else — than  see  him  as  he  is,  a  miser  to 
nobody  but  to  the  blessed  Lord  who  gave  him 
the  very  breath  that's  in  his  nostrils.  No, 
don't  talk  to  me  about  his  hospitality." 

And  it  must  be  confessed  that  most  people 
readily  obliged  Mister  Horn  in  this  request. 

With  these  notions  so  strongly  held,  it  was 
not  much  wonder  that  Mister  Horn  did  not 
care  to  avail  himself  of  Jim's  pressing  invita- 
tion. Often  repeated,  and  very  heartily  made, 
they  were  somewhat  bluntly  declined. 

On  one  occasion,  however,  Mister  Horn  ac- 
cepted an  invitation  with  a  readiness  and  free- 
dom that  were  surprising. 

He  had  dropped  into  the  office  on  business, 
and  as  he  was  leaving,  Jim  pressed  him  to  re- 
main. "  You  never  come  to  take  dinner  with 
us;  you  know  there  is  always  a  knife  and  fork 
and  the  best  I  can  afford — nobody  living  is 
more  welcome  than  you  are." 

It  was  evident  that  Mister  Horn  had  just 
got  something  "  in  his  mind."  Turning  sud- 
denly round  in  the  door-way,  and  coming  back 


How  Old  Jowl  got  a  Dinner.  55 

again,  he  struck  his  stick  sharply  on  the  office 
floor. 

"  Thank  ye,  Jim,  thank  ye,"  said  he,  as  the 
little  gray  eyes  twinkled  merrily.  "You're 
very  kind.  It's  just  the  very  thing  I'm  want- 
ing, is  a  good  dinner.  I'll  take  it  with  me, 
thank  you." 

Jim  knew  there  was  something  else  coming, 
and  looked  inquiringly. 

"  I'll  take  it  with  me,  Jim,"  continued  Mr. 
Horn,  as  he  began  figuring  upon  a  piece  of 
paper ;  and  then  went  on  interrupting  himself 
as  he  added  his  figures — "  ninepence  and  six- 
pence— you're  very  kind,  Jim — and  eightpence 
— very  kind — and  ninepence  more — very  kind 
— and  fourpence," — he  paused  as  he  drew  a 
line  at  the  bottom  of  the  paper.  "  There, 
Jim,  I'm  not  much  of  a  ready  reckoner,  but 
that's  about  it,  as  you  do  things  handsome — 
three  shillings — ah,  but  I'd  forgotten  the  ci- 
gars, say  two,  that's  sixpence  more — say  three 
shillings  and  sixpence.  Thank  ye  ;  I'll  take  it 
with  me  as  I'm  rather  in  a  hurry." 

James  Niggardly  began  to  suspect  what  was 
coming,  but  only  looked  what  he  thought. 

Mister    Horn    laughed    with    a    child-like 


56      MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

and  honest  merriment,  and  then   renewed  his 
appeal. 

"  I'm  just  going  to  see  poor  old  Jowl ;  he's 
as  poor  as  a  church  mouse,  and  I  should  very 
much  like  to  take  him  a  dinner,  so  if  you'll 
give  it  to  me  I'll  be  off,  Jim," — and  the  sen- 
tence ended  in  a  laugh  like  that  with  which  it 
began. 

"  Three  and  sixpence  !  "  said  Jim,  "  really, 
Mister  Horn,  you're  always  begging — I'm  only 
a  poor  man — give,  give,  give — it's  nothing  but 
give," — and  he  spoke  like  one  who  is  bitterly 
wronged. 

"  O,  I'm  very  sorry,  very  sorry,  I'm  sure  ;  " 
and  Mister  Horn  spoke  with  an  air  of  apology. 
"  You  ask  me  to  take  dinner,  I  accept  your 
offer  and  want  to  take  it,  and  now  you  draw 
back  like  this.  Why,  Jim,  I  certainly  thought 
you  meant  it." 

James  Niggardly  felt  that  Mister  Horn  had' 
him,  and  that  it  was  useless  to  wriggle.  As 
if  it  had  been  his  very  life-blood,  he  counted 
three  shillings  and  sixpence  into  Mister  Horn's^ 
hand. 

"  Thank  ye,  Jim,  thank  ye,"  Mister  Horn 
chuckled  ;  "  I've  enjoyed  the  dinner  very  much. 


How  Old  Joivl  got  a  Dinner.  57 

It's  such  a  comfort  to  an  old  man  like  me  to 
dine  without  indigestion,  and  all  that."  His 
voice  returned  to  its  more  serious  tone  as  he 
moved  toward  the  door.  "Good-day,  Jim, 
there's  not  many  things  that  are  better  worth 
the  money  than  old  Jowl's  blessing — good-day, 
thank  ye." 

"  Well,"  Mister  Horn  muttered  to  himself 
as  he  went  up  the  road,  "  I'm  glad  that  I've 
got  poor  old  Jowl  his  dinner ;  but  I  can't  under- 
stand it.  Jim  would  rather  have  had  me,  or 
any  body  else  who  doesn't  need  a  dinner,  to 
dine  with  him  all  the  week  round,  than  have 
spent  three  shillings  and  sixpence  in  this  way. 
He'd  give  you  five  shillings  in  meat  and  drink 
sooner  than  give  old  Jowl  one  in  hard  cash. 
If  Jim  could  only  get  hold  of  a  prince  now, 
he'd  ruin  himself  to  get  him  luxuries — that  he 
would.  Poor  Jim !  God  help  thee,  or  some 
day  thou  wilt  hear  it  spoken  :  I  was  ahun- 
gered,  and  ye  gave  me  no  meat ;  I  was  thirsty, 
and  ye  gave  me  no  drink  ;  I  was  a  stranger, 
and  ye  took  me  not  in  ;  naked,  and  ye  clothed 
me  not ;  sick  and  in  prison,  and  ye  visited  me 
not.  Inasmuch  as  ye  did  it  not  to  one  of  the 
least  of  these,  ye  did  it  not  to  me.  God  help 


$8      MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

thee,  Jim — I'll  not  give  thee  up  yet,  for  I  think 
there  is  somewhat  to  hope  for." 

•35-  *  *  %  * 

"  Really,"  grumbled  James  Niggardly,  Esq., 
as  he  passed  into  his  comfortable  dining-room, 
"  this  incessant  giving  is  unbearable ;  people 
beg  without  any  conscience."  And  he  was 
obliged  to  console  himself  with  a  glass  of  his 
golden  sherry. 


More  to  be  Desired  than  Gold. 


59 


CHAPTER  VI. 

MORE  TO   BE   DESIRED   THAN   GOLD. 

HE  deceitful- 
ness  of  riches 
is  a  form  of 
speech  often 
heard.  Yet, 
frequently  as 
it  is  used,  few 
act  as  though 
they  realized 
its  truth.  It 
is  very  possi- 
ble that  even 
.  we  do  not  ap- 
•prehend  fully 
its  import. 

Money  is  very  useful,  indeed,  almost  essen- 
tial, to  doing  good.  And  then  poverty  is 
really  uncomfortable,  and  it  is  so  uninfluential, 
so  powerless  for  any  beneficence.  It  is  gener- 
ally ignorant,  too,  and  often  drunken  and  dis- 


60      MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

honest.  Why,  look  at  all  our  town  missions 
and  home  missions,  our  Bible  women  and 
tract  distributers — they  are  all  for  the  con- 
version of  the  poor,  and  force  us  to  think  of 
that  Scripture,  "  The  poor  have  the  Gospel 
preached  unto  them,"  as  if  it  meant  that  no- 
body else  needed  it.  Look,  too,  at  our  com- 
mon phrases  that  unconsciously  betray  the 
deepest  and  most  general  convictions.  The 
man  who  is  getting  rich  is  doing  ivell,  as  if  all 
morality  lay  in  money- making.  He  who  loses 
money  is  doing  badly,  and  the  world  reckons  it 
the  very  worst  badness  of  which  men  can  be 
guilty. 

The  religious  phrases  in  use  baptize  the  same 
notions  with  a  Christian  name  :  "  Providence 
smiles  upon  him " — they  are  always  golden 
smiles — the  man's  getting  rich.  But  of  him 
who  loses  money — the  Church  shrugs  its  shoul- 
ders and  shakes  its  head,  and  says,  half-pity- 
ingly  and  half-upbraidingly,  "  He  has  gone 
out  of  his  providential  zuay."  We  test  Provi- 
dence by  gold,  and  measure  the  Divine  favor 
by  the  amount  of  the  income.  When,  my 
reader,  shall  we  learn  the  lesson  of  that  Life  of 
lives?  The  Son  of  the  Highest  was  called 


More  to  be  Desired  than  Gold.  61 

the  son  of  a  carpenter.  He  in  whom  the 
Father  was  well  pleased  was  faint  with  very 
hunger.  The  Well-beloved  had  not  where  to 
lay  his  head ! 

She  is  a  lying  jade,  this  deceitful  riches. 
For  years  she  had  whispered  to  James  Nig- 
gardly. "You  see,"  she  whispered  smoothly, 
"  when  you  have  got  so  much  more,  how  use- 
ful you  could  be,  how  very  useful.  Of  course, 
at  present,  you  can't  do  much  ;  but  then  you 
will  be  able  to  give  without  stint,  and  in  so 
many  ways  to  do  good."  The  fair  enchantress 
conjured  up  a  picture  in  which  James  Nig- 
gardly saw  himself  amid  his  abundance  blessed 
and  beloved  of  all  the  villagers,  busied  only 
with  schemes  of  usefulness,  and  spending  his 
untroubled  leisure  in  doing  good.  He  saw 
half  the  devils  of  Tattingham  cast  out  by  his 
gold — potent  gold,  yellow,  flashing  gold,  the 
true  magician,  the  mighty  exorcist,  whose  fet- 
ters should  bind  the  prince  of  darkness,  and 
whose  influence  should  bring  the  "  golden  age," 
what  could  not  its  wizardry  accomplish  ? 

The  wonder  is  that  James  Niggardly  did 
not  see  the  lie,  ay,  and  feel  it,  too !  The 
balance  at  the  banker's  increased  each  year; 


62      MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

each  year  trade  grew,  and  the  returns  swelled 
to  higher  figures  :  yet  he  was  not  a  tittle  the 
happier,  he  could  not  give  a  penny  more,  and 
grudged  as  much  as  ever  the  little  he  did  give. 
Happier !  not  he  ;  he  was  harder  to  please,  he 
grumbled  more  constantly,  he  swaggered  a 
great  deal  more,  his  indigestion  became  more 
troublesome,  while  now  and  then  there  was  an 
ominous  twitching  in  the  great  toe — and  this 
was  all  that  riches  did  for  him.  The  deceitful 
thing ! 

A  nd  she  was  as  cruel  as  she  was  false.  James 
Niggardly  was  within  easy  reach  of  the  truest, 
purest  happiness  that  ever  soul  delighted  in. 
If,  as  he  sat  in  the  easy-chair,  looking  out  from 
the  dining-room  into  the  pleasant  garden,  he 
could  have  changed  places  with  Mister  Horn 
for  an  hour,  he  would  have  known  what  true 
happiness  is. 

The  road  from  Stukeville  to  the  village  passed 
up  the  hill,  between  tall  hedges,  and  here  and 
there  between  old  twisted  oaks  and  stately 
elms.  All  was  beautiful  with  the  leafiness  of 
June  ;  the  air  was  sweet  with  honeysuckle,  and 
wild  rose,  and  the  white  flowers  of  the  elder ; 
hazel  branches  covered  the  hedge-top,  and 


All  was  beautiful  with  the  leafiness  of  Jund. 


More  to  be  Desired  than  Gold.  65 

from  beneath  them  rose  the  leafy  fern,  the 
plume  of  the  budding  foxglove,  and  all  the 
luxurious  tangle  of  deep  grass  and  trailing 
leaves,  starred  by  the  white,  or  pink,  or  yellow 
of  clustering  wild  flowers.  The  hum  of  in- 
sects and  the  twittering  of  hedge  birds  filled 
the  lazy  noontide,  while  now  and  then  a  flood 
of  melody  was  poured  from  the  soaring  lark. 
On  one  side  of  the  road  leaped  and  sang  the 
ceaseless  little  stream  that,  bubbling  up  to 
light  in  a  delicious  spring,  round  which  the 
mosses  hung,  formed  a  tiny  crystal  pool  where 
the  birds  stooped  to  drink,  and  then  went 
laughing  all  along  its  way  to  the  river  in  the 
valley  below,  as  if  its  one  good  deed  sent  it 
rejoicing  to  the  end  of  its  course. 

Slowly  nature  stole  Mister  Horn's  thoughts. 
He  stayed  to  scent  the  sweetness,  admiring 
the  beauty  lavished  round  him,  until  he  caught 
the  spirit  of  gratitude  that  inspired  all  things, 
and  he  lifted  up  his  heart  to  bless  the  good  Fa- 
ther: '•  O  Lord,  how  manifold  are  thy  works; 
the  earth  is  full  of  thy  riches!"  he  muttered. 
"Full  of  thy  riches;  yes,  God  doesn't  keep 
his  riches  to  himself.  The  earth  is  full  of 
them.  Every  little  nook  is  crowded,  even  this 


66     MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

common  hedge-row  and  dusty  highway.  God's 
riches  that  he  gives  are  more  than  all  our  riches 
can  buy." 

Slowly  reaching  the  hill-top,  the  landscape 
opened  more  fully  before  him.  The  intense 
blue  sky,  the  fields  and  woodland  dappled  with 
light  and  shade  chasing  each  other  in  leisurely 
sport,  while  far  away  the  great  banks  of  clouds 
— God's  snowy  mountains — rose  before  him. 
"Full  of  thy  riches,"  he  cried  as  he  paused, 
"  and  all  these  riches  mine  !  " 

A  princess  welcomed  to  her  adopted  home 
with  jubilant  music  and  costliest  splendor, 
with  censers  breathing  delicate  perfumes  and 
the  rapturous  greetings  of  a  mighty  host, 
would  have  been  of  all  things  most  unlike  the 
plain,  quaint,  busy  Mister  Horn.  And  yet  it 
was  with  such  a  joy,  so  full  and  deep,  that  he 
lived  each  day ;  and  with  such  a  delight  in  all 
about  him.  Nature  teemed  with  ministering 
spirits  that  seemed  sent  forth  to  minister  to 
him.  And  well  might  it  be  so.  Did  he  not 
walk  in  the  smile  of  God — the  smile  that 
makes  life's  lowliest  by-path  a  triumphant  way? 
And  did  not  leafy  arches  span  it  as  he  passed 
along, and  flowers  breathe  delicious  fragrance? 


More  to  be  Desired  than  Gold.  67 

God's  own  sun  illuminated  his  steps,  and  the 
ever  sweet  and  gentle  music  of  the  birds  at- 
tended him.  "Full  of  his  riches,  full"  he 
cried,  "  there  is  no  room  for  any  thing  more." 
Ah,  James  Niggardly,  how  much  wouldst  thou 
have  paid  down  in  hard  cash  to  have  had  for 
one  hour  this  contentment,  this  gratitude,  this 
delight  ? 

Near  to  the  hill-top  was  one  of  the  many 
clusters  of  cottages  that  made  up  the  scattered 
village  of  Tattingham.  For  the  most  part  they 
stood  in  groups  of  three  or  four,  facing  the 
highway,  with  their  gardens  flourishing  around 
them.  But  passing  these,  Mr.  Horn  crossed 
over  a  stile ;  and  then  a  few  steps  along  the 
little  path  between  the  green  wheat  brought 
him  to  a  dilapidated  hovel.  It  looked  as  if, 
ashamed  of  being  seen  on  the  highway,  it  had 
slunk  back  thus  far  out  of  sight,  and  had  all 
but  thrown  itself  down  in  the  effort.  The  dis- 
ordered thatch,  the  uneven  walls,  the  one  win- 
dow with  its  patched  and  ragged  panes ;  the 
strip  that  had  been  a  garden  now  a  mound  of 
ashes  and  a  wilderness  of  weeds — it  was  only 
by  the  grossest  flattery  that  these  could  be 
known  as  "  Old  Jowl's  Cottage" 


68      MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

It  was  not  a  knock  that  announced  Mister 
Horn's  arrival  so  much  as  a  rattle,  as  if  the 
loosely  hanging  door  resented  the  tap  and 
shook  itself  crustily.  A  feeble  voice  answered, 
"  Come  in."  Putting  his  finger  through  the 
round  hole  and  lifting  the  clumsy  latch,  Mr. 
Horn  stooped  under  the  door-way  and  passed 
within. 

Fortunately  the  door  was  left  open,  for  the 
air  was  needed,  and  the  sunlight  that  slanted 
across  the  dusty  room  was  the  only  pleasant 
thing  in  it.  The  place  was  just  as  comfortless 
as  the  outside  promised — perhaps  a  trifle  din- 
gier. The  old  man  himself  was  undoubtedly 
as  poor  as  the  proverbial  "  church  mouse  "  to 
which  Mr.  Horn  had  likened  him.  Yet,  some- 
how, the  first  look  made  one  take  a  fancy  to 
"  old  Jowl."  There  was  a  fresh  color  upon 
his  wrinkled  cheeks,  and  a  smile  that  lit  up  the 
blue  eyes  and  curled  about  the  corners  of  the 
mouth ;  and  when  he  spoke  there  was  such  a 
cheery  contentment  in  his  tone  that  one  could 
not  help  liking  him.  The  sunshine  reached 
just  far  enough  to  fall  on  the  old,  large-type 
Bible  that  rested  upon  his  knees,  and  from  its 
open  page  the  light  was  reflected  upon  his 


The  sunshine  reached  just  Tar  enough  to  fall  on 
(he  old,,  large-type  Bible  that  rested  upon  his  knees, 
and  from  its  open  page  the  light  was  reflected  upon 
his  face. 


More  to  be  Desired  than  Gold.  71 

face.  One  felt  as  if  the  reflected  light  were 
always  there,  and  that  the  freshness,  the  smile, 
and  the  contented  tone  grew  somehow  out  of 
the  light  from  that  open  page. 

"  Old  Jowl,"  as  every  body  called  him,  had 
been  for  years  unable  to  work.  Crippled  with 
rheumatism,  and  gradually  growing  feebler,  he 
could  only  crawl  from  his  bed  to  the  fire-place 
and  back  again.  His  wife  had  died  some  years 
before,  and  since  then  he  had  lived  alone.  The 
neighbors  looked  after  him,  and  with  the  help 
of  some  friends  and  the  parish  allowance,  he 
had,  he  said,  "  enough  to  praise  God  for." 

"Well,  old  friend,  how  is  it  to-day?"  asked 
Mister  Horn,  gently  shaking  the  old  man's 
hand. 

"Ah,  Mast'  Horn,  I'm  glad  to  see  yeow, 
bless  yir.  I  knew  'twas  yeow  when  yeow  came 
to  the  door,  and  the  sound  o'  yeow  did  me 
good  like.  I'm  right  glad,  I  am,  right  glad  ;  " 
and  the  old  man  looked  it,  too. 

Light  is  sown  for  the  righteous,  and  glad- 
ness for  the  upright  in  heart ;  and  Mister  Horn 
might  have  been  the  messenger  sent  with  it. 
As  the  light-bearer  and  the  joy-bringer  many 

a  one  had  blessed  him.     His.  happy  manner, 
5 


72     MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

his  homely  ways,  his  pleasant  gossip  about  all 
that  could  interest,  his  simplicity  and  quaint- 
ness,  did  the  people  more  good,  they  said, 
"  nor  the  doctor  hisself,"  which  is  not  alto- 
gether incredible  seeing  that  most  of  them 
were  doctored  "  by  the  parish"  The  Sun  of 
Righteousness  carries  the  healing  in  his  wings. 
There  is  nothing  that  heals  in  the  gloom  of 
righteousness — nothing  that  heals  in  the  chill, 
sunless  religion  that  goes  through  its  duty  cold 
and  unrejoicing,  like  a  November  day. 

"  They  don't  do  much  good,"  Mister  Horn 
often  said,  "  who  have  stayed  in  the  thunder 
till  it  has  turned  their  milk  of  human  kindness 
sour." 

It  is  a  way  of  doing  good  much  overlooked 
by  many  learned  doctors  and  great  professors 
that  the  Bible  recommends  :  "  A  merry  heart 
doeth  good  like  a  medicine." 

"  Bitters  are  useful  .sometimes,  and  blisters 
are  needed  now  and  then  ;  but  as  a  general 
sort  of  a  family  medicine  that  it's  best  to  keep 
about  one,  there's  nothing  like  a  merry  heart," 
was  one  of  Mister  Horn's  favorite  recipes,  and 
many  grateful  testimonials  would  have  testified 
to  its  efficacy.  Jim  Niggardly,  with  a  purse  of 


More  to  be  Desired  than  Gold.     •      73 

golden  guineas,  couldn't  have  made  old  Jowl's 
face  brighten  into  such  a  happiness  as  did  the 
merry  heart  that  rang  in  every  word  Mister 
Horn  spoke. 

"I've  been  thinking  as  I  came  up  the  hill 
what  a  happy  old  fellow  you  ought  to  be, 
friend,"  continued  Mister  Horn. 

"  Me,  Mast'  Horn,  so  I  am,  bless  yir,"  and 
old  Jowl  looked  happier  than  ever. 

"  '  Well,'  I  said  to  myself,  '  if  any  body's  got 
a  father  so  rich  and  so  kind  as  his  Father,  he 
might  set  up  for  a  gentleman,  I  count.  I've 
been  looking  at  your  Father's  estates,'  old 
friend,  coming  up  the  hill.  He  is  rich,  is  your 
Father — why  he  puts  golden  buds  on  the  very 
furze  bushes,  and  powders  gems  on  the  butter- 
flies, and  strews  all  the  shady  places  with  dia- 
monds! And  to  think  thou  art  his  son  and 
heir,  old  friend  !  '  Eh,  he  will  be  a  rich  man 
some  day,  will  old  Jowl,'  said  I  to  myself  as  I 
came  along." 

"  Aye,  as  kind  as  he's  rich,  Mast'  Horn,  bless 
him !  I  often  think  that  I'm  like  the  prodi- 
gal son — poor  enough,  an'  a  bit  hungry  and 
cold  sometimes,  but  it's  like  the  prodigal  when 
the  father  had  met  him,  and  fall'd  on  his  neck 


74     MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

and  kissed  him,  and  said,  '  He  was  dead  and  is 
alive  agen.'  Why,  that  kep'  him  happy  till  he 
got  to  the  father's  house.  And  then  !  then  !  " — 
and  the  blue  eyes  sparkled  into  tears — "  then 
there  was  the  best  robe,  and  the  fatted  calf, 
and  the  bein'  merry.  I'm  goin'  home  and 
He's  with  me,  Mast'  Horn.  I  sometimes  feel 
the  blessed  arms  rpun'  my  neck,  an'  he  gives 
me  the  kiss  o'  peace,  an'  presses  me  to  his 
heart  an'  calls  me  his  son,  till  tears  o'  joy  run 
down  my  cheeks,  and  I  get  a  wonderin'  what 
heaven  itself  can  be  more  'an  such  blessedness 
as  that.  I  often  think  that  we're  gettin'  near 
the  door,  very  near." 

Mister  Horn  was  quiet  for  a  minute  or  two, 
as  if  to  let  the  old  man  feel  the  blessedness 
of  his  own  words.  Then  he  broke  out  more 
cheerfully, 

"You've  been  growing  a  long  time,  old 
friend." 

The  blue  eyes  looked  round  with  an  amused 
wonder,  "  Growin',  Mast'  Horn,  whatever  do 
yeow  mean  ?  " 

"  Why,  rheumatics  is  what  they  call  it  by, 
but  that's  only  what  they  say;  it's  growin 
fains,  it's  growin  pains.  I  know  when  I  was  a 


More  to  be  Desired  than  Gold.  75 

lad  I  used  to  have  a  lot  o'  aches  and  pains 
sometimes,  and  the  old  woman  would  say 
'  Ah,  Jim,  it's  on'y  growin'  pains.  Ay,  and 
all  our  pains  and  aches  is  nothing  but  growin' 
pains,  if  we  use  'em  right.  These  pains  o'  yours, 
friend,  they're  only  growin'  pains — the  wings 
pushing  up  a  bit,  lengthening  and  strengthen- 
ing, till  some  day  they'll  be  full  grown,  and 
then — you'll  clap  the  glad  wings  and  tower 
away." 

"  Ah,  it'll  soon  be,  Mast'  Horn,  very  soon,"  and 
the  look  was  one  of  triumphant  joy.  "  I  think 
they're  comin',  and  a  bringin'  the  best  robes. 
An'  I  count  I  shall  hardly  know  mysen !  To 
'a'  done  with  the  old  smock,  and  to  put  on  the 
white  robes,  an'  be  a  gentleman  all  of  a  sud- 
den." And  the  old  man  laughed  at  the  happy 
notion.  "  To  think  o'  their  comin'  down  here 
to  this  little  place  o'  mine  an'  knockin'  at  the 
door,  an'  comin'  in  to  fetch  me  up  to  the 
glorious  palace  where  they  hunger  no  more, 
neither  thirst  any  more,  for  the  Lamb  which 
is  in  the  midst  o'  the  throne  shall  feed  them,  and 
shall  lead  them  unto  living  fountains  o'  waters. 
To  think  o'  my  poor  crippled  feet  walkin'  the 
golden  street  like  the  rest  o'  the  priests  and 


76     MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

kings,  and  this  old  hand  done  with  roomatics 
and  a  sweepin'  the  golden  'arp !  I  read  about 
it  and  picture  it  over  to  mysen  till  I'm  a'most 
up  there,  a  flyin'  about  among  the  glorious 
great  angels  who  do  excel  in  strength.  Eh, 
what  errands  I'll  go  for  my  Master,  then  !  Ay, 
Mast'  Horn,  it'll  be  a  mystery  an'  a  mercy,  but 
bless  the  Lord  it'll  be,  for  all  that." 

Presently  followed  a  few  words  of  simple, 
earnest  prayer,  and  Mr.  Horn  rose  to  leave. 

"  I've  brought  a  dinner  for  you,  old  friend," 
he  said,  taking  the  money  out  of  his  pocket ; 
"  here's  three  shillings  and  sixpence  from  Jim 
Niggardly." 

"  The  Lord  bless  him,  the  Lord  bless  him 
and  yeow  for  bringin'  on  it,  Mast'  Horn  !  The 
Lord  bless  you  both  !  'Twere  on'y  this  morn- 
in'  as  I  wa'  talkin'  to  the  Lord,  for  I  ma'n't 
kneel  to  pray,  so  I  sit  and  talk  to  him — 

"  Face  to  face  as  a  man  talketh  to  his  friend," 
whispered  Mr.  Horn  to  himself. 

"  And  I  say,  '  Lord,  I  got  a  bit  o'  care,  and 
I  want  to  cast  it  'pon  thee,  knowin'  that  thou 
dost  care  for  me.  The  quarter  day  is  comin' 
and  there's  the  rent,  Lord.  O  Lord !  what- 
somever  I  suffer  I  know  thou  permits  it,  and 


More  to  be  Desired  than  Gold.  77 

thou  art  wise  and  very  good,  but,  Lord,  I 
wouldn'  have  nobody  'cept  mysel'  to  be  the 
wuss  for  me,  Lord.'  I  wa'  sure  the  Lord  hear 
me,  and  now  'ere's  the  answer.  Bless  the 
Lord!  Tell  Jim  I  ma'n't  do  much  for'm,  but 
I'll  do  what  I  can.  I'll  pray  the  Lord  bless 
'm,  and  yeow  too,  Mast'  Horn.  For  I  like  to 
think  that  for  all  I  can  do  so  little,  my  Father 
isn't  goin'  to  let  any  body  be  in  his  debt.  He 
wouldn't  have  a  cup  o'  cold  water  given  but 
what  he'll  keep  count  of  it  and  pay  it  back 
some  day.  Tell  Jim  that  I'll  tell  my  Father 
all  about  it,  and  ask  him  to  bless  Jim  an' 
all  belongin'  to  him.  Bless  his  name,  he  will 
too,  I  know  he  will."  And  as  the  bent  fingers 
held  the  money  the  lips  moved  in  gratitude 
and  prayer. 

"  Good-day,  old  friend,  good-day  !  "  cried 
Mister  Horn  abruptly,  and  hurried  away,  brush- 
ing his  hand  across  his  eyes  as  he  went,  and 
the  short  legs  hastened  off  over  the  field  and 
along  the  highway  at  their  swiftest  pace. 
*  •»  *  *  fc 

Ah,  good  reader,  is  not  this  riches  a  deceit- 
ful jade?  Why,  here  was  James  Niggardly, 
Esquire,  amid  his  plenty,  grumbling  and  growl- 


78      MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

ing  at  a  hundred  annoyances.  Yet  he  had 
spent  a  great  deal  of  money  on  his  house  and 
furniture,  in  order  to  secure  his  happiness. 
The  garden  absorbed  money  in  wages  and 
work  that  was  meant  to  be  repaid  in  pleasure. 
The  savory  odor  of  dinner  came  breathing  de- 
licious promises  into  the  dining-room.  Pict- 
ures were  on  the  walls ;  books  on  the  shelves  ; 
handsome  ornaments  on  the  mantel-piece. 
Jim  Niggardly  himself  lay  back  in  his  chair, 
his  right  hand  playing  with  the  heavy  gold 
chain,  the  left  hand  jingling  gold  and  silver  in 
his  pocket,  the  consoling  golden  sherry  stand- 
ing within  reach.  Yet  he  was  thinking  himself 
a  man  ill  used  and  wronged,  notwithstanding 
that  his  three  shillings  and  sixpence  had  done 
so  much  to  confer  so  light  a  heart,  and  a  soul 
so  winged  with  joy,  as  that  which  Mister  Horn 
had  left  in  old  Jowl's  tumble-down  cottage. 


Old  Friend  Chaffer —  Where  he  Lived.     79 


CHAPTER  VII. 

OLD  FRIEND   CHAFFER — WHERE   HE   LIVED. 

F  all  Mister 
Horn's  espe- 
cial friends, 
there  was  no 
such  favorite 
as  old  Friend 
Chaffer.  If 
Mister  Horn 
began  to  talk 
of  what  peo- 
ple could  do 
in  the  matter 
^/  of  giving,  all 
knew  pretty 

well  what  was  coming;  there  was  sure  to  be 

something  about  old  Friend  Chaffer. 

Their  admiration  was  mutual,  and  usually 

expressed  itself  in  the  same  terms. 

"  Ah  !  he  is  a  wonder,  is  old  Friend  Chaffer," 

jerked  out  Mister  Horn,  while  the  ash  stick 


8o      MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

came  down  with  a  thump,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"  Ah,  there's  no  mistake  about  that,  master." 

"  You  know  he's  a  wonder,  is  Mister  Horn — 
wholly  a  wonder,"  quoth  old  Friend  Chaffer 
with  a  shake  of  his  little  old  head,  and  a  broad 
smile  that  revealed  the  lingering  grinders  few 
and  far  between. 

He  lived  in  the  village  of  Hillingsham,  com- 
monly known  as  Hill'sam.  The  traveler  who 
should  pass  up  the  narrow  winding  hill  and 
reach  the  scattered  houses  of  this  parish,  would 
not  think  it  peculiarly  favorable  to  the  devel- 
opment of  heroes. 

Old  laborers,  bent  and  withered  as  if  beaten 
down  by  the  winds  and  rains,  and  dried  up  by 
the  suns  in  which  they  had  spent  fifty  or  sixty 
years  of  their  life,  crept  along  in  smock-frocks, 
each  with  its  peculiar  ornamentation  in  front 
like  a  breastplate  of  needlework ;  the  project- 
ing legs  were  buttoned  in  leather  gaiters  that 
narrowed  into  marvelously  small  ankles,  and 
then  went  swelling  into  a  pair  of  huge  hob- 
nailed boots.  Younger  men  had,  for  the  most 
part,  enlisted  or  emigrated ;  while  the  daugh- 
ters were  hired  from  year  to  year  at  the  Mich- 
aelmas "  statty,"  as  the  statute  fair  was  called. 


Old  Friend  Chaffer —  Where  he  Lived.     8 1 

The  early  cock-crow  woke  the  little  place  to 
the  kind  of  walking  sleep  that  was  its  life  ; 
the  hum  of  the  thrashing  machine  was  fitting 
music  throughout  the  monotonous  day ;  and  in 
the  evening  the  booming  cock-chafer  had  it 
almost  to  himself. 

The  church  stood  long  and  low  amid  a  clump 
of  dying  trees.  The  church-yard,  separated 
from  the  road  by  a  slimy  horse-pond,  was 
neglected  and  nettle-grown.  The  weather- 
worn wooden  memorials  of  the  dead,  stretch- 
ing the  whole  length  of  the  grave,  told  only  of 
long  life  and  unchanging  names.  The  village, 
that  commenced  with  the  church,  was  in  every 
way  a  continuation  ef  its  appearance.  It  was 
ugly — almost  ugly  enough  for  a  town.  The 
houses  were  neither  sufficiently  old  nor  poor 
for  Nature  to  have  touched  them  with  her 
kindly  hand  into  something  of  her  own  :  there 
was  no  moss-grown  thatch,  nor  walls  thick 
with  honeysuckle  and  clustering  rose,  nor  ivy 
climbing — 

"  Aloft,  a  grove;  beneath,  a  knot  of  snakes." 

The  cottages  were  most  of  them  of  dull  red 
brick  with  slated  roofs,  that  in  summer  looked 


82      MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

fever-stricken  with  the  heat,  and  in  winter 
looked  blue  and  red  with  the  cold. 

At  the  other  end  of  the  village  was  the 
other  place  of  worship,  as  if  between  them 
they  would  secure  all  the  souls.  It  was  a 
white-washed  little  place,  with  low  roof  and 
two  arched  windows.  The  door  was  covered 
with  many  coats  of  paperings,  remnants  of 
various  parish  notices  and  circuit  announce- 
ments, with  lingering  patches  legible  enough 
to  make  an  absurd  jumble,  in  which  a  public 
tea-meeting  was  followed  by  compulsory  vac- 
cination, and  special  sermons  had  to  do  with 
votes  for  the  knights  of  the  shire,  and  "ser- 
mons would  be  preached  by — "  followed  by  a 
list  of  ratepayers  as  long  as  one's  arm.  Every 
body  knew  in  a  moment  that  it  was  a  Meth- 
odist chapel. 

Such  was  Hill'sam,  where  old  Friend  Chaffer 
lived  and  worked  through  the  six  days  of  the 
week.  But  Hill'sam  on  Sunday  seemed  quite 
another  place.  The  church  woke  up  and 
crashed  out  a  merry  peal  that  met  you  with 
its  music  a  mile  away.  The  men  put  on  the 
week's  clean  smock  frock,  the  women  donned 
their  old  red  cloaks,  and  the  best  bonnet  saw 


Old  Friend  Chaffer —  Where  he  Lived.     83 

the  light  once  more.  A  Sunday  at  Hill'sam 
was  a  day  to  be  remembered.  You  overtook 
men  and  women  hot  and  dusty  with  their  long 
walk,  the  father  carrying  one,  perhaps  two  lit- 
tle ones,  while  the  maternal  shawl  bulged  with 
the  shape  of  a  basket. 

You  might  have  known  where  the  chapel 
was  by  the  folk  that  lingered  about  the  door 
and  in  the  road.  At  church  all  went  in  before 
the  service  commenced,  and  were  ready  at 
once  reverently  to  worship  God  ;  but  at  chapel 
they  waited  thus  as  if  to  make  sure  that  the 
preacher  had  come  before  they  risked  them- 
selves inside  —  perhaps  there  was  too  much 
reason  for  their  caution. 

Then  the  singing  at  Hill'sam  !  Well,  to  say 
the  least,  it  could  not  be  forgotten.  There 
was  a  clarionet,  which  tried  to  make  up  in 
zeal  what  it  lacked  in  skill ;  and  the  fiddle — 
the  fickle  fiddle ! — that  had  its  periodical  fits 
of  goodness,  and  then  was  periodically  report- 
ed "  to  have  given  up  religion  and  gone  to 
church."  There  was  the  pious  old  leader — 
Heaven  bless  him  ! — who  believed  tunes  were 
spiritual  exactly  in  proportion  to  their  runs 
and  repeats.  Yet  was  there  a  heart  about  it 


84      MISTER  HORN  AXD  His  FRIENDS. 

all,  and  an  earnestness,  that  were  very  much 
better  —  more  acceptable  to  God  and  more 
profitable  to  the  people  —  than  the  vain  per- 
formances of  many  more  ambitious  places  in 
which  no  one  can  join. 

After  the  service  the  preacher  for  the  day 
had  to  meet  the  one  Society  class.  This  over, 
all  adjourned  to  the  vestry,  where  a  score  of 
cups  and  saucers,  the  opening  of  bundles,  and 
other  signs,  intimated  that  dinner  came  next. 
One  basket  produced  a  knife  and  fork — they 
were  for  the  preacher ;  for  him,  too,  were  the 
slices  of  bread  and  meat,  and  the  further  lux- 
uries of  a  plate,  a  screw  of  salt,  and  a  mustard- 
pot.  The  others  sat  round  on  the  forms, 
ranged  in  families — a  family  clasp-knife  with 
its  one  large  blade  did  common  duty  on  the 
bread,  and  bit  of  cheese  or  bacon.  Then 
came  two  or  three  cups  of  tea,  completing  the 
meal. 

O  what  happy  talks  knit  those  hearts  to- 
gether, and  helped  to  make  the  Sabbath  the 
blessed  day  that  it  was  to  them !  Some  of 
earth's  godliest  saints  gathered  at  that  humble 
meal.  Look  at  the  tall,  bald-headed  old  man 
in  the  corner,  keeping  himself  very  much  to 


Old  Friend  Chaffer—  Where  he  L  ived.     8  5 

himself;  and  well  he  may,  for  he  has  neither 
kith  nor  kin,  that  he  knows  of,  in  the  \vhole 
wide  world.  Those  large  eyes  of  his,  staring 
out  into  vacancy  as  if  they  had  seen  nothing, 
and  found  in  that  enough  to  be  in  a  perpetual 
wonder,  have  seen  some  rare  sights.  He  was 
brought  up  as  a  lad  to  the  business  and  profes- 
sion of  a  smuggler  by  a  pious  uncle — for  in 
those  days  some  believed  that  piety  and  smug- 
gling could  meet  together  and  kiss  each  other; 
and  it  is  duly  recorded  yet  in  the  "  Minutes," 
how  that  the  Conference  gravely  asked  what 
should  be  done  to  put  down  smuggling  in  the 
Societies,  when  it  was  agreed  that  no  smug- 
gler should  be  allowed  to  remain  among  us 
;is  a  local  preacher !  He  was  kidnapped  and 
pressed  into  his  Majesty's  navy  more  than 
si.ity  years  ago,  and  bears  upon  him  traces  of 
incidents  as  romantic  as  ever  were  written ; 
and  those  wide-open  eyes  have  seen  more  his- 
tory than  most  of  us  have  read.  But  the  one 
story  he  can  remember  most  vividly,  the  one 
incident  he  can  talk  of  most  unwearily,  is  how 
that  under  an  orange-tree,  on  the  top  of  a 
lonely  island  in  the  South  Pacific  Ocean,  he 
sought  the  forgiveness  of  his  sins  and  found 


86      MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

peace  with  God ;  and  how  that  it  was  fol- 
lowed by  a  revival  on  board  the  man-of-war, 
in  which  half  the  crew  and  many  of  the 
officers  were  converted ;  and  how  that  they 
sailed  into  battle  singing  hymns — hymns 
that  sometimes  were  suddenly  silenced  here 
and  there,  not  because  the  song  had  ceased, 
but  because  the  singer  had  gone  to  sing  else- 
where. 

There  is  good  old  mother  Bear,  too,  mum- 
bling her  bit  of  bread  and  muttering  her  grati- 
tude by  turns,  who  when  a  friend  called  to  see 
her  the  other  day,  said,  "  Ah,  God  is  good,  he 
is  good  to  think  o'  me  as  he  do,  for  I  aint 
nohow  worth  it.  Ye  know  up  to  las'  Saturday 
I  had  a  half-a-crown  a  week  from  the  parish, 
and  then  I  had  a  goodish  appetite,  but  then 
they  tookt  sixpence  off,  and  that  very  day  I 
los'  my  appetite  so  as  I  can  do  just  as  well  as 
ever — Ah,  God  is  good,  he  can  make  things  jit 
so!" 

That  old  white-haired  saint  who  has  just 
come  hobbling  in  on  a  pair  of  sticks — he  with 
the  many  folds  of  white  kerchief  wrapt  about 
his  neck,  and  the  tight-fitting  suit  of  black 
that  ends  in  the  gouty  knuckles  and  the  glossy 


Old  Friend  Chaffer—  Where  he  Lived.     87 

knobs  on  his  shoes — he  is  the  father  of  Meth- 
odism in  these  parts.  A  local  preacher  sixty 
years  ago,  you  should  hear  him  tell  how  that 
when  preaching  out  of  doors  once  in  the  neigh- 
boring village  the  burly  butcher  came  behind 
and  suddenly  clasped  him  in  his  arms,  and 
flung  him  in  the  horse-pond  :  swollen  as  it  was 
with  winter  rains,  he  had  a  very  narrow  escape 
from  drowning.  And  how  that  same  butcher 
shortly  afterward  was  stricken  down  under  the 
power  of  the  word — felled  like  an  ox — and 
went  roaring  for  many  days  in  the  disquietude 
of  his  soul,  until  he  found  peace  with  God  and 
became  a  champion  for  Jesus,  as  before  he  had 
been  for  the  devil. 

After  dinner  the  children  met  for  an  hour  in 
Sunday-school — humble  work  enough  it  was, 
that  did  not  get  much  beyond  the  letters 
and  small  words,  but,  like  all  true  work  for 
God,  it  was  imperishable,  and  Heaven  kept 
the  record  faithfully  in  the  Book  of  Golden 
Deeds. 

The  afternoon  service  closed  the  public  re- 
ligious duties  of  the  day  at  Hill'sam.  Then 
the  fathers  and  mothers,  with  their  children 
and  empty  baskets,  went  homeward  over  the 


88       MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

fields  or  along  the  highways  leaving  the  village 
to  sink  to  its  usual  quiet  for  another  week. 

But  before  this  our  attention  would  have 
been  caught  by  the  quaint  figure  of  one  who 
must  have  a  chapter  all  to  himself. 


Old  Friend  Chaffer—  What  he  Did.        89 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

OLD   FRIEND   CHAFFER — WHAT   HE   DID. 

)W  of  all  the 
prosaic  folks 
of  this  parish 
of  Hill '  sam 
there  was  no 
one  with  less 
of  promise  in 
his  make-up 
than  our  an- 
cient Friend 
Chaffer. 

A  bent  lit- 
tle old  man, 
with  flat  feet 
that  shuffled  along  uneasily,  was  what  one  saw 
at  the  first  glance.  "  As  tender  as  old  Friend 
Chaffer's  corns,"  was  a  well-worn  proverb  with 
Mister  Horn,  by  which  he  usually  summed  up 
his  opinion  of  folk  that  were  easily  put  out 
and  vexed.  As  he  shuffled  nearer  there  was 


90      MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

disclosed  a  figure  quaint  in  feature,  expression, 
and  dress.  The  hat,  that  once  held  the  skull 
of  an  eminent  divine,  accommodated  itself  to 
this  smaller  head  by  lying  back  until  it  almost 
rested  upon  his  shoulders  and  projected  in 
front  immediately  above  the  eyes,  just  a  fringe 
of  flat  hair  marking  the  line  of  separation. 
Underneath  was  a  pair  of  as  pleasant  eyes  as 
ever  merry  wrinkles  played  around  ;  the  cheeks 
and  dumpy  nose  were  scorched  into  a  perma- 
nent glossy  redness ;  the  mouth,  large  and 
sunken,  was  fixed  into  an  unchangeable  smile 
that  seemed  to  give  a  twist  to  all  he  said,  mak- 
ing the  husky  sentences  end  in  a  sort  of  little 
laugh.  A  velveteen  coat  with  sporting  buttons 
hung  in  folds  around  the  little  old  man.  The 
trousers  might  have  laid  claim  to  all  the  privi- 
leges of  apostolical  succession,  and,  like  the 
doctrine  itself,  had  to  be  much  patched  from 
many  sources. 

His  life  had  been  spent  as  a  farm  laborer. 
On  ten  shillings  a  week  he  and  his  good  wife 
had  brought  up  a  family  of  eleven  children, 
and  now  at  seventy  years  of  age  he  found  his 
hard  work  rewarded  with  a  parish  allowance  of 
five  shillings  a  week. 


Old  Friend  Chaffer—  What  he  Did.        91 

Look  well  at  him,  for  he  is  a  hero.  Ay,  look 
at  him,  as  Mister  Horn  would  often  say,  look 
well  at  him  in  this  world,  for  he  will  be  too 
high  up  for  most  of  us  to  see  him  in  the  next. 

If  the  very  many  thousands  whose  names 
fill  the  Annual  Report  of  the  Wesleyan  Mis- 
sionary Society  were  to  pass  before  us,  a  vast- 
er, perhaps  more  imposing,  procession  would 
rarely  be  seen.  Crowned  heads  and  robes  of 
royalty  would  swell  its  pomp ;  generous  mer- 
chants and  devoted  ladies  would  testify  that 
giving  doth  not  impoverish ;  chieftains  decked 
with  feathers  and  wild  beasts'  skins  would  lead 
on  their  tribes;  furred  wanderers  from  the  north 
would  march  beside  the  negro  and  the  stately 
Brahmin :  almost  every  nation  would  lend  its 
variety  of  costume  and  appearance,  and  send 
its  pledges  that  all  the  kingdoms  of  the  earth 
should  become  the  kingdoms  of  the  Lord  and 
of  his  Christ.  But  first  and  foremost  should 
be  none  of  these.  Not  the  king  with  splendid 
gift  in  stately  chariot ;  not  the  chief  enthroned 
with  barbaric  pomp  upon  the  glittering  ele- 
phant ;  not  the  stalwart  leader  of  a  once  savage 
tribe  now  bringing  the  weapons  of  cruelty  to 
lay  at  the  feet  of  the  Prince  of  Peace  ;  not  the 


92      MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

merchant  prince  whose  vast  magnificence  has 
made  his  name  a  household  word  throughout 
the  world.  Heading  the  mighty  host  should 
be  a  little  stature  and  quaint  figure  hurrying 
on  with  shuffling  feet — first  and  foremost  there 
would  be  our  old  Friend  Chaffer! 

With  five  shillings  a  week  to  live  on — five 
shillings  for  rent  and  food,  for  firing  and  clothes, 
with  class  money  never  forgotten — he  appears 
in  this  year's  report  for  one  pound  and  twelve 
sJ til  lings  ! 

One  pound  twelve  !  It  sets  one  thinking  of 
the  report,  and  of  what  some  of  those  entries 
mean  that  look  so  unimportant  and  are  so  quick- 
ly read — what  stories  of  self-denial  are  locked 
up  in  them — what  scheming  to  save,  what  strug- 
gles to  spare.  Ay,  and  more  commonly  for- 
gotten, what  system  beginning  thus  has  uncon- 
sciously spread  itself  throughout  all  the  man- 
agement, and  wrought  more  than  its  own 
supply. 

This  one  pound  twelve  was  the  result  of  a 
year's  hard  and  painful  work.  Miles  were  shuf- 
fled over  to  collect  a  shilling,  and  very  often 
for  less.  Little  bits  of  garden  produce  were 
lovingly  worked  at,  and  eagerly  sold  for  a  few 


At  length    he  reaches  the    farm-house,  and  stands 
amid  the  sheds. 


Old  Friend  Chaffer—  What  he  Did.       95 

pence.  How  warily  the  conversation  would 
be  turned  round  when  any  one  dropped  in, 
how  cunningly  led  up  to  a  certain  point  until 
suddenly  the  box  made  its  appearance,  explain- 
ing and  applying  all  that  had  gone  before !  The 
philosophy  of  that  Scripture,  "  A  liberal  man 
deviseth  liberal  things,"  could  find  no  better 
illustration  than  in  old  Friend  Chaffer.  With 
no  such  restless  thought  did  ever  genius  seek 
to  apply  a  new  principle  or  to  produce  a  new 
machine ;  with  no  such  uneasy  watchfulness 
did  ambition  ever  try  to  turn  advantages  to  its 
own  account  as  that  with  which  old  Friend 
Chaffer  sought  to  fill  his  box.  Like  the  woman 
of  Bible  story,  he  had  but  "  a  precious  box  "  to 
bring  for  his  Master's  acceptance  and  service  ; 
and  to  fill  it  richly  full  each  year  was  his  dream, 
his  ambition,  and  his  toil. 

Picture  the  large  hat,  the  glossy  face,  the 
loose  coat,  shuffling  up  the  hill  with  the  mission- 
ary-box under  his  arm,  tied  up  in  a  colored 
cotton  handkerchief.  In  this  sweltering  heat 
and  with  his  painful  steps  it  will  be  an  hour's 
hard  work  to  get  to  the  farm-house  to  which 
he  is  going.  At  length  he  reaches  it,  and 
stands  amid  the  sheds.  And  now,  making  the 


96      MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

pigeons  fly  disturbed  from  the  barn  roof,  and 
making  the  old  dog  moan  in  dismal  concert, 
the  little  husky  voice  sings  to  the  traditional 
tune  the  familiar  hymn  : — 

"  Blow  ye  the  trumpet,  blow 

The  gladly-solemn  sound  ; 
Let  all  the  nations  know, 

To  earth's  remotest  bound, 
The  year  of  jubilee  is  come  ; 
Return,  ye  ransom'd  sinners,  home." 

Then  panting  with  the  effort,  and  pausing 
to  recover  breath  and  to  stroke  the  little  fringe 
of  flat  hair  over  his  eyes,  he  sang  the  second 
and  other  verses  of  the  hymn  : — 

"  Jesus,  our  great  High-priest, 

Hath  full  atonement  made  : 
Ye  weary  spirits,  rest  ; 

Ye  mournful  souls,  be  glad  ; 
The  year  of  jubilee  is  come  ; 
Return,  ye  ransom'd  sinners,  home. 

"  Ye  who  have  sold  for  naught 

Your  heritage  above, 
Shall  have  it  back  unbought ; 

The  gift  of  Jesus'  love  : 
The  year  of  jubilee  is  come  ; 
Return,  ye  ransom'd  sinners,  home." 

At  once  the  news  spread  that  old  Friend 
Chaffer  had  arrived.  All  knew  him,  and  all 
were  compelled  to  like  him,  if  it  were  only  for 


Old  Friend  Chaffer—  What  he  Did.       97 

his  simple,  cheery  face.  The  master  came 
across  the  yard  from  the  stock  to  lean  upon 
his  spud  with  an  amused  attention,  and  to  roll 
in  a  few  bass  notes  when  it  came  to  the  last 
two  lines;  the  "missis"  and  eager  children 
crowded  the  old  porch  ;  the  servants  looked  out 
from  the  windows,  and  boys,  in  little  smocks 
and  gaiters,  gathered  round  him  with  a  custom- 
ary grin.  When  the  hymn  was  gone  through, 
the  box  was  carefully  untied  and  handed  to 
the  master,  and  thence  throughout  the  house. 
Every  body  gave  something.  As  it  came  back 
again  it  was  a  picture  worthy  of  any  pencil  to 
see  the  little  old  head  hung  on  one  side  as  the 
box  was  lifted  to  try  its  increased  weight,  the 
face  glowing  with  contentment,  and  the  mouth 
and  cheeks  and  eyes  all  puckered  up  into  a 
hundred  quaint  wrinkles  that  seemed  to  vie 
with  each  other  in  expression  of  merry  grati- 
tude. Then  came  a  verse  or  two  of  the  hymn : 

"Jesus  shall  reign  where'er  the  sun 
Does  his  successive  journeys  run  ; 
His  kingdom  spread  from  shore  to  shore, 
Till  moons  shall  wax  and  wane  no  more. 

"  To  him  shall  endless  prayer  be  made, 
And  endless  praises  crown  his  head  ; 
His  Name  like  sweet  perfume  shall  rise 
With  every  morning  sacrifice." 


98      MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

Again  the  box  was  carefully  wrapped  up,  and 
the  little  bent  figure  shuffled  homeward,  past 
all  work  for  himself,  but  thankful,  most  thank- 
ful, that  he  could  still  do  something  for  his  be- 
loved Master. 

Once  he  boldly  proposed  to  call  upon  the 
parson  of  the  parish,  who  had  not  more  kindly 
regard  for  the  Methodists  than  one  could  ex- 
pect :  they  were  a  sort  of  poachers  who  tres- 
passed and  poached  upon  his  preserves  with 
impunity.  When  old  Friend  Chaffer  suggested 
it  to  his  wife  she  was  almost  alarmed,  and  tried 
to  talk  him  out  of  it.  The  matter  soon 
dropped,  and  the  good  wife  triumphantly  con- 
cluded that  he  had  given  up  so  wild  a  notion  ; 
but,  unknown  to  her,  he  shuffled  away  one  day 
to  the  rectory. 

The  good  clergyman  received  him  kindly, 
and  heard  his  request,  and,  indeed,  handled 
with  some  curiosity  the  treasured  box.  But 
putting  it  down,  as  old  Friend  Chaffer  finished 
his  appeal,  he  reminded  him  that  he  knew 
nothing  of  the  Wesleyan  missions,  and  must 
have  some  information  first.  At  once  the  old 
man  promised  to  bring  him  a  Report.  Six 
weary  miles  he  trudged  to  fetch  it  from  the 


Old  Fncnd  Chaffer —  What  he  Did.       99 

Superintendent  at  Gippington,  and  six  miles 
back,  and  the  next  day  stole  away  quietly 
again  to  the  parson. 

"  He  did  stare  when  he  saw  so  much  read- 
in'/'  the  old  man  told  us  afterward;  "  he  looked 
quite  frightened  when  I  said  I  "ud  leave  it 
with  him  to  read  it  through." 

A  week  after  old  Friend  Chaffer  went  once 
more.  The  good  clergyman  was  amazed  and 
much  interested. 

"  Why,  I  thought  you  Methodists  were  a 
feeble  folk,  but^I  find  that  you  do  even  more 
than  we  do."  (It  was  a  treat  to  see  old  Friend 
Chaffer's  face  as  he  told  of  that!)  "As  to 
money — you  raise  as  much  as  we  do,  and  I 
can't  make  out  how  you  manage  to  do  so  much 
with  it.  I  must  say  that  you  folks  know  how 
to  get  money,  and  how  to  make  the  most  of  it. 
I  really  can't  give  you  less  than  five  shillings. 
Come  for  it  yourself  every  year,  and  lend  me 
the  Annual  Report  of  your  Society." 

"  I  was  comin'  out  o'  the  passage,"  the  old 
man  went  on,  "  and  'twas  darkish,  and  I  did'n' 
know  any  body  was  near  by,  and  I  was  sayin' 
to  myself,  '  Bless  the  Lord,  O  my  soul,'  when 
the  door  was  opened,  and  I  saw  the  par- 


ioo    MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

son's  good  lady,  and  she  say,  '  You  mustn't 
tell  any  one ;  but  here's  another  half-crown 
for  you,  Chaffer,  and  I  wish  I  could  give  you 
more  ; '  and  the  way  she  say  it  was  as  good 
as  five  shillings,  'twas  so  kind  and  pretty 
spoken." 

But  it  was  not  his  skill  as  a  missionary  col- 
lector only  that  gained  for  him  the  title  of  "  a 
wonder.'-'  There  was  a  story  that  old  Friend 
Chaffer  would  but  seldom  allude  to,  but  which 
Mister  Horn  delighted  to  tell  to  every  one. 

From  the  time  of  his  conversion  Chaffer  had 
determined  to  devote  something  regularly  to 
the  work  of  God.  It  was  no  easy  task,  with 
an  additional  mouth  to  be  filled  each  year, 
while  the  wages  kept  at  the  same  hard  line. 

"  I  al'us  carried  my  class  penny  in  my  waist- 
coat pocket  till  the  Sunday  meetin',"  the  old 
man  has  told  us,  "  so  that  it  was  sure  whatever 
come.  But  then  there  was  the  missions :  I 
loved  them  very  much,  and  al'us  read  the 
'  Notices  ; '  an*  there  was  a  collection  or  two, 
an'  one  thing  an'  another,  so  I  \vanted  three 
or  four  pennies  more  sometimes.  My  neigh- 
bors 'ud  say  to  me  as  it  wa'n't  needed  for  me 
to  do  so  much;  but  I  say  to  them,  '  If  I  was 


Old  Friend  Chaffer—  What  he  Did.      10 1 

an  archangel,  I'd  try  to  sing  my  very  best  to 
the  Lord ;  but  seem'  as  I  a'n't,  well,  the  on'y 
thing  is  to  do  the  best  thing  as  I  can  'pon  ten 
shilling'  a  week  and  'leven  children.  Why,  bless 
ye,  it's  wholly  the  same  if  we  do  our  best !  " 

Here,  too,  the  liberal  mind  devised  liberal 
things.  The  little  garden  around  his  cottage 
grew  a  few  vegetables,  and  two  or  three  fruit- 
trees  sent  a  few  baskets  during  the  year  to 
market.  Choosing  the  sunniest  corner,  and  in 
which  grew  his  choicest  apple-tree,  he  chris- 
tened that  "  the  Lord's  bit."  Whatever  he 
could  make  out  of  that  was  to  be  given  away. 
Love  is  satisfied  only  when  it  gives  its  best. 
This  corner  received  of  all  the  most  careful 
labors ;  this  was  the  first  to  be  dug  up  and 
planted,  and  for  this  was  reserved  the  pick 
of  roots  and  seeds.  Here  the  depredations  of 
the  frost  and  the  earliest  sign  of  blight  were 
most  jealously  traced,  and  here  the  promise  of 
the  spring,  and  the  summer  worth,  were  most 
joyfully  anticipated. 

But  once  there  came  a  time  when  the  garden 
began  to  grow  neglected.  The  weeds  stood 
thick  and  tall.  The  unpruned  trees  were  tan- 
gled with  wild  creepers.  Chaffer's  familiar 


IO2    MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

face  was  missed  from  the  Sunday  services. 
He  had  been  brought  home  from  his  work 
with  an  injured  leg,  and  lay  upon  his  bed  with 
a  prospect  of  not  being  able  to  leave  it  for 
months.  Then  sore  want  slowly  stripped  the 
house.  The  little  savings  put  by  for  some 
such  rainy  day  were  soon  gone  through — one 
by  one  disappeared  the  less  needed  things 
about  the  house.  Again  the  wolf  was  at  the 
door,  and  there  seemed  nothing  left  with  which 
to  drive  him  away.  The  children  were  coming 
home,  and  there  was  not  a  crust  in  the  house. 
Then  the  anxious  wife  bethought  her  of 
something  that  would  scare  the  wolf.  Laid 
by  in  a  box,  carefully  wrapt  up  in  a  piece  of 
paper,  were  four  shillings — four  precious  shil- 
lings !— the  produce  of  "  the  Lord's  bit."  Tak- 
ing them  in  her  hand,  she  came  to  her  hus- 
band ;  they  were  starving — could  they  not  take 
this  money,  or  at  least  borrow  it,  and  pay  it 
back  when  times  were  better?  Little  Chaffer, 
burdened  as  he  was  with  bitter  wants,  had  hith- 
erto borne  up  bravely.  But  now  he  burst  into 
tears.  "  What,"  he  cried,  "  play  Ananias  and 
Sapphira,  and  rob  our  only  Friend  !  O  no,  no, 
lass ! "  he  went  on  as  the  tears  streamed  down 


Old  Friend  Chaffer—  What  he  Did.      \  03 

his  cheeks,  "  if  it  is  the  Lord's  will  we  can 
starve  and  die  and  go  home  to  heaven,  but  we 
ma'nt  do  this,  come  what  will.  The  blessed 
Lord  knows  all  about  it,  and  he  can  fill  up  the 
flour  barrel.  But  we  wont  take  back  the 
little  cake  that  we  have  given  to  him.  Trust 
him,  lass,  for  we've  got  his  word  for  it  that  he 
will  hear  us  if  we  call  upon  him  in  the  day 
of  trouble,  and  will  deliver  us.  He  will,  too, 
I  know  he  will." 

The  poor  wife  turned  in  despair  to  the  lin- 
gering herbs  in  the  garden,  and  gathering  what 
little  there  was,  went  off  to  Gippington  to  pick 
up  what  she  could  for  them. 

Chaffer  lay  in  the  lonely  place  thinking  of 
the  Lord  and  his  ways.  "  Well,  we're  come 
to  the  last  pinch  now,"  he  sighed,  "and  may 
be  it  is  the  turnin'  point.  The  doctor  tell  me 
I  ma'nt  set  my  foot  to  ground,  but  I'll  try — 
happen  the  Lord  '11  help  me." 

Painful  and  stiff  the  leg  was,  and  it  was  with 
much  difficulty  that  he  hobbled  to  the  door. 
He  crept  along  to  "  the  Lord's  bit,"  and  looked 
at  it  with  such  a  grief  as  that  with  which  one 
would  look  for  the  first  time  at  the  grave  of 
some  most  beloved  friend. 


104    MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

"  Well,  I  ma'nt  let  this  be,  if  I  never  do 
any  thing  else.  I'm  up  now,  and  may  never 
be  up  agen,  and  it  '11  comfort  me  to  know  as 
my  last  bit  o'  work  was  for  Him." 

And  the  withered  hands  clung  to  the  spade, 
and  he  struggled  slowly  to  turn  over  the  earth. 
It  was  hard  work,  but  done  with  a  desperate- 
ness  as  if  it  were  love's  last  effort.  He  was  in 
the  midst  of  his  work  when  his  wife  was  com- 
ing down  the  hill  toward  the  cottage.  She 
had  sold  her  herbs  and  was  returning  with  at 
least  one  day's  supply,  when  she  caught  sight 
of  her  husband  in  the  garden.  She  could 
scarcely  believe  her  eyes  at  first ;  but  soon  sur- 
prise gave  way  to  grief  and  vexation,  and  as 
she  appeared  at  the  gate  poor  Chaffer  hobbled 
in  before  the  coming  storm,  and  crept  back 
again  to  his  couch. 

The  storm,  of  course,  soon  blew  over,  for  it 
was  only  the  anger  of  anxious  affection,  espe- 
cially as  Chaffer  found  himself  only  wearied  by 
his  effort.  The  next  day  he  crept  out  again 
and  finished  "  the  bit."  Strength  rapidly  re- 
turned, and  in  a  few  days  he  went  back  to  his 
work,  nor  ever  felt  any  thing  more  of  the 
injury. 


Old  Friend  Chaffer—  What  he  Did.      105 

"  Eh,  wife,"  he  whispered,  when  he  brought 
home  his  wages,  "  I  should  be  on  my  back  yet, 
if  we  had  touched  the  money  o*  '  the  Lord's 
bit.' " 

So  old  Friend  Chaffer  came  to  be -called  "a 

wonder." 

7 


io6    MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

INTRODUCES   US  TO   ANOTHER  FRIEND. 

ERY  much 
unlike  most 
of  the  other 
intimates  of 
Mister  Horn 
was  the  Bill 
Smith  afore- 
said. Very 
much  unlike 
James  Nig- 
gardly, Esq., 
or  old  Mast'r 
Jowl,  or  even 
Friend  Chaf- 
fer, was  this 
big,  broad-shouldered,  honest  son  of  Vulcan. 
Yet  none  the  less  was  he  a  friend,  and  our 
record  would  be  very  incomplete  without  a 
full  length  portrait  of  Mister  Horn's  favorite 
disciple. 


Introduces  us  to  Another  Friend.       107 

Nor  could  you  wonder  at  Mister  Horn's 
interest  in  him.  He  was  yet  a  boy  when  his 
widowed  mother,  with  her  last  breath,  com- 
mended him  to  the  care  of  her  old  "  class- 
leader."  And  henceforth,  however  unpleasant 
it  might  be  to  the  young  apprentice,  Mister 
Horn  came  to  look  upon  him  almost  as  a  son. 
Bill,  on  his  part,  had  done  his  best  to  be  free  from 
this  oversight ;  indeed,  had  done  enough  to 
wear  out  all  hope  and  patience  ;  but  no  matter 
what  trouble  or  what  disgrace  he  got  into,  he 
found  his  mother's  friend  waiting  with  loving 
entreaty  and  wise  advice — not  unmixed,  it  is 
true,  with  a  well-deserved  rating.  Nor  was 
this  all.  Mister  Horn  believed  in  the  artillery 
of  prayer — that  no  city  of  Mansoul  with  mighty 
gates  and  massive  walls  could  withstand  its 
power  if  you  only  keep  pounding  away  at  it. 
Heaven  itself  could  be  carried  by  storm :  then 
what  mortal  man  could  stand  it,  though  all 
the  hosts  of  hell  were  leagued  inside?  Twenty 
years  of  such  unwearied,  unfaltering  prayer, 
had  riveted  Bill  Smith  to  Mister  Horn's  heart 
by  more  than  fetters  of  brass. 

Bill  was   apprenticed  to  the  village  black- 
smith.    But  do  not  let  visions  of  the  chestnut- 


io8   MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

tree  and  its  surroundings  rise  in  the  mind.  Old 
Graves  was  as  much  unlike  the  traditional 
blacksmith  of  poetry  as  the  stern  realities  of 
life  generally  are  unlike  the  poetical  descrip- 
tions thereof. 

A  bent  old  man,  like  the  figure  of  an  ancient 
Atlas  without  the  world  on  his  back,  his  head 
thrust  forward  as  far  as  it  would  go,  and  a  thick 
clump  of  projecting  hair  going  out  beyond  that 
like  a  horn.  He  went  about  always  solemnly 
shaking  his  head,  as  if  reading  the  "vanity  of 
vanities  "  in  the  dust  on  which  his  eyes  were 
fixed  ;  wheezing  with  asthma  as  if  his  own  bel- 
lows had  to  work  hard  to  keep  the  inner  fires 
going.  He  might,  perhaps,  have  taught  Bill 
to  poke  the  fire  and  to  handle  the  tongs,  only  he 
always  claimed  that  as  the  master's  part.  The 
pupil's  was  to  fling  the  sledge-hammer,  to  shoe 
the  village  horses,  and  to  do  all  other  work 
whatsoever  belonging  to  the  art  and  mystery 
of  a  smith,  by  the  aid  of  such  natural  wit  as  he 
possessed.  To  Bill,  with  those  broad  shoul- 
ders of  his  and  those  stout  young  arms,  work 
was  a  joyous  thing.  He  whistled  cheerily  to 
the  roar  of  the  bellows,  and  sung  to  the  ring- 
ing anvil,  never  thinking  that  he  kept  the 


Introduces  us  to  Another  Friend.         109 

house  over  the  old  man's  head—  but  always 
thinking  that  some  day  he  should  greatly 
like  to  keep  the  roof  over  the  head  of  some- 
body else,  whose  sweet  voice  Bill  often  stopped 
to  listen  to  as  it  sang  merrily  away  at  the  little 
kitchen  window. 

Meanwhile  what  Bill  himself  was  blind  to  see 
was  perfectly  plain  to  the  eyes  of  that  some- 
body else.  And  when,  in  the  cold,  damp 
weather,  father  was  at  home  wheezing,  and 
shaking  his  solemn  head  at  the  fire  as  if  dumb- 
ly preaching  to  it  of  its  cold,  dead,  ashy  future, 
how  could  fair  Jenny  Graves  keep  herself  from 
seeing  that  it  was  Bill  who  kept  them  in  bread 
and  cheese.  And  for  her  father's  sake,  of 
course,  what  else  could  she  do  than  like  him. 
Not  that  he  was  any  thing  to  her — of  course  not. 
But  as  a  dutiful  daughter  she  was  bound  to  ad- 
mire those  broad  shoulders  and  those  strong 
arms  that  did  her  father  such  good  service. 
And  was  it  not  for  her  father's  sake  that  she 
stepped  into  the  smithy  to  see  that  all  was  going 
right  in  his  absence  ?  Who  knew,  indeed,  what 
this  apprentice  might  be  about?  So  sweet 
Jenny  Graves  often  stood  like  a  pretty  picture 
framed  by  the  old  door-way  of  the  smithy,  her 


no    MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

pleasant  face  and  slim  figure,  the  white  arms 
with  the  sleeves  still  pinned  back  to  the  shoul- 
der, coming  for  a  minute,  and  then  tripping 
lightly  back  again.  How  should  she  know 
that  for  a  full  five  minutes  afterward  the  strong 
hands  of  the  apprentice  lay  idle  on  the  ham- 
mer as  it  rested  on  the  anvil,  and  the  appren- 
tice wasted  five  precious  minutes  in  gazing 
vacantly  at  the  duck  pond  and  ash  heap  that 
lay  before  the  smithy?  or  that  for  the  same 
space  of  time  the  hand  held  the  chain  of  the 
bellows  listlessly,  while  the  vacant  gaze  peered 
into  the  depths  of  the  fire  ?  How  should  she 
know  it,  indeed,  unless  it  were  because  she 
stood  dreamily  looking  out  of  the  window 
with  hands  that  only  played  with  the  dough, 
or  trifled  with  the  soap-suds,  for  a  like  space  of 
time  ? 

The  truth  that  fair  Jenny  had  seen  with  half 
an  eye  was  forced  upon  her  more  plainly  as 
the  time  went  by.  The  days  soon  came  when 
Jenny  had  to  step  into  the  smithy  to  look  after 
her  father  as  well  as  the  apprentice,  and  found 
him  unable  to  use  the  hammer,  and  scarcely 
fit  to  hold  the  chain  of  the  bellows  with  his 
trembling  hand.  He  could  do  little  else  but 


Introduces  us  to  A  not  her  Friend.        1 1 1 

sit  by  the  smithy  fire  with  his  leathern  apron 
spread  over  his  knees,  dumbly  shaking  his 
head  over  the  flame,  as  if  solemnly  prophesy- 
ing to  the  horseshoe  of  the  evil  days  that  were 
in  store  for  it — that  it  was  all  very  well  to  glow 
about  it  now,  but  the  time  was  coming  when 
it  should  be  cold  and  hard ;  when  it  should  be 
trodden  underfoot ;  when  it  should  be  rung  on 
the  hard  highway  for  many  a  weary  mile,  and 
plashed  in  the  dismal  mud  ;  or,  there  was  no 
knowing,  lifted  up  by  an  angry  heel  to  serve  a 
spiteful  kick.  Prophesyings  that  were  sudden- 
ly interrupted  as  Bill  seized  the  glowing  mass 
with  the  tongs  and  made  a  shower  of  glory 
fly  from  it,  and  then  dipped  it  hissing  in  the 
trough.  But  before  long  that  place  was  de- 
serted, and  solemnly  shaking  his  head  as  if 
predicting  his  speedy  end,  old  Graves  took  to 
his  bed,  and  soon  fulfilled  his  prophecy  by  de- 
parting this  life. 

Bill  was  not  yet  out  of  his  time  when  poor 
old  Graves  passed  away.  But  being  master 
both  of  his  trade  and  of  Jenny's  affections,  he 
took  at  once  the  daughter  and  the  business. 
And  Mr.  Horn  came  in  to  give  his  blessing 
to  each,  and  thanked  God  that  life  began  so 


ii2    MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

brightly  with  the  widow's  son  and  his  happy 
wife. 

For  awhile  things  went  on  as  pleasantly 
as  they  promised  at  the  first.  But  there 
came  a  slow-creeping  fear  across  Jenny's  heart, 
like  a  gathering  cloud,  that  by  and  by  burst 
in  a  deluge  of  sorrow — a  flood  of  grief  that 
swept  away  all  peace  and  comfort,  and  al- 
most all  hope,  and  left  a  life  blighted,  blasted, 
cursed. 

Bill's  visits  to  "  The  Green  Man  "  had  been 
daily  at  their  marriage.  The  whole  village 
held  that  there  was  no  harm  in  a  half-pint  now 
and  then.  The  whole  village,  however,  might 
have  known  better,  for  there  was  abundant 
evidence  of  the  horrible  mischief  that  began  iir 
that  half-pint  now  and  then. 

The  whole  village  had  heard  Mister  Horn's 
opinion  about  it  often  enough  —  unfortunately 
he  had  many  opportunities  of  giving  it.  "  There 
mayn't  be  any  harm  in  a  half-pint  now  and 
then,  but  there's  death  in  the  pot  if  you  will 
go  to  the  public-house  to  drink  it.  There's  a 
good  deal  more  than  a  half-pint  o'  beer  in  the 
matter  then.  There's  company  that  nobody 
would  say  that  there's  no  harm  in ;  and  there's 


Introduces  us  to  Another  Friend.         113 

temptations  that  a  man  is  a  fool  to  get  into, 
and  that  'tis  hard  work  to  get  out  of.  The 
mouse  liked  cheese,  and  thought  there  was  no 
harm  in  a  nibble  now  and  then.  Well,  there 
wasn't.  But  when  he  went  into  the  trap  to  get 
it  that  was  another  matter,  as  mousey  found 
out  to  his  sorrow."  Like  many  others,  Bill's 
half-pints  became  more  frequent ;  occasionally 
an  evening  was  spent  with  the  company  that 
gathered  there.  And  one  night  Bill  came  stag- 
gering home  drunk,  swearing,  quarreling,  ready 
to  strike  his  own  gentle  wife ;  it  seemed  as  if  a 
swarm  of  devils  had  burst  into  the  house  that 
night.  They  had  taken  possession  of  it,  and  it 
would  be  a  long  time  before  any  could  cast 
them  out.  That  night  poor  Jenny's  face  lost  its 
roses,  and  from  that  night  onward  for  many  a 
wretched  month.  With  bitter  grief  she  went 
to  tell  Mr.  Horn  of  her  sorrow ;  while  shame 
and  vexation,  and  a  mad  kind  of  defiance  of 
every  body,  sent  Bill  soaking  all  the  next  day 
within  the  shelter  of  "  The  Green  Man."  The 
misery  of  soberer  moments  drove  him  for  some 
relief  to  the  public-house,  to  its  company  and 
its  drink.  Home  was  home  no  more ;  each 
evening  was  spent  at  the  public. 


ii4    MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

The  house  of  God  was  forsaken  ;  the  old  as- 
sociates were  cast  off.  Mister  Horn  came  and 
entreated  and  rated,  but  all  in  vain.  Surly 
and  miserable  Bill  listened  without  a  word,  or 
angrily  claimed  his  liberty  to  please  himself. 
Meanwhile,  what  with  earning  less  and  spend- 
ing more,  the  home  and  all  about  it  soon  be- 
came as  miserable  as  himself,  and  gave  him 
another  excuse,  though  none  was  needed,  for 
going  again  to  "  The  Green  Man."  The  little 
cottage  was  stripped.  The  ornaments  that 
had  been  Jenny's  pride,  the  furniture  itself,  the 
very  clothes,  were  gone  for  bread.  And  now 
looking  in  at  the  dark  smithy  door,  fearful  of 
the  angry  oaths  that  would  greet  her,  was  a 
pale-faced,  thinly-clad  woman,  and  a  ragged 
child  hiding  frightened  in  the  folds  of  her 
dress. 

There  were  hour.  —  lays  -of  remorse  ;  days 
in  which  Bill  vowed  amendment,  in  which  he 
sought  to  be  again  the  Bill  of  olden  times,  and 
hope  flushed  the  pale  cheek  for  a  moment,  like 
the  dawn  of  a  brighter  day.  But  the  spell  of 
the  curse  was  on  him.  Good  resolutions  were 
swept  to  the  wind,  and  down  again  he  would 
sink,  lower  and  deeper  than  ever.  Poor  Jenny 


Introduces  us  to  A  not  her  Friend.        1 1 5 

must  have  given  in  with  a  broken  heart,  but 
for  the  hope  and  help  that  Mister  Horn  never 
failed  to  bring  her.  He,  too,  might  have  de- 
spaired, but  that  day  and  night  he  pleaded  for 
the  widow's  son  with  an  importunity  that 
would  not,  could  not,  give  him  up ;  prayer 
could  do  miracles  still. 

At  last  the  answer  came.  Bill  himself  must 
tell  the  story,  as  he  never  failed  to  tell  it  when 
somebody  needed  encouragement,  or  when 
others  told  of  what  the  Lord  had  done  for 
them.  Bill  wasn't  a  man  of  many  words,  and 
he  did  not  belong  to  the  school  of  weep- 
ing prophets ;  but  it  was  hard  work  for  him 
to  get  through  without  one  or  two  break- 
downs. 

"  Eh,  friends,  I  have  heard  folks  say  some- 
times that  'tis  hard  work  going  to  heaven. 
And  they  talk  of  their  temptations  and  trials 
Well,  I  went  along  the  road  to  hell  a  bad  bit, 
as  many  of  you  know.  Thafs  a  hard  road  if 
you  like.  Talk  about  your  temptations  and 
trials,  why  the  place  for  them  is  all  along  the 
downward  road.  To  see  men  going  home 
with  their  wages  decent  and  happy,  and  you 
going  sneaking  in  your  rags,  to  spend  it  all 


u6    MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

upon  yourself,  that's  enough  to  make  a  man 
feel  like  a  wretch  and  a  fool.  To  go  along  by 
a  nice  tidy  cottage,  with  the  man  working  in 
his  garden,  and  a  tidy  woman  looking  out  o' 
the  door-way,  and  the  children  helping  father — 
and  then  to  come  into  your  own  place  and  to 
see  it  all  mounds  and  heaps,  to  see  the  win- 
dows stuffed  with  rags,  to  see  your  poor  wife 
so  miserable  that  she  can  hardly  speak  to  you 
for  crying,  and  the  little  children  run  away  so 
soon  as  ever  you  come  for  fear  of  the  man 
that's  their  own  father — that's  temptation  if 
you  like.  Hardly  a  chair  to  sit  down  upon, 
not  a  bit  o'  fire  in  the  grate ;  and  to  see  the 
wretched  wife  and  poor  little  pale-faced  chil- 
dren sit  down  to  a  bit  o'  dry  bread,  all  because 
they've  got  a  father  who  spends  his  money  in 
drink — that's  something  like  a  temptation  and 
trial.  To  go  wandering  about  the  lanes  on  a 
Sunday,  and  hear  the  church  bells  or  the  sing- 
ing of  the  children,  and  to  mind  how  you  used 
to  go  with  them,  and  to  think  of  the  dear  old 
mother  as  took  you  there — and  then  to  think 
o'  where  you're  going  to,  that's  something  like 
a  temptation  an'  trial.  Why  many's  the  time 
that  I've  climbed  over  a  gate,  and  hid  behind 


Introduces  us  to  Another  Friend.        1 17 

the  hedge  to  get  out  o'  the  sight  of  some  de- 
cent man  going  up  to  the  house  of  God  with 
his  children.  Temptations  and  trials!  Why, 
often  and  often's  the  times  that  I've  had  hard 
work  to  keep  my  own  hands  off  my  own  self, 
I've  been  that  mad  with  myself,  and  that  mis 
e'rable — and  I  should  have  done  it,  too,  but 
for  a  kind  of  feeling  that  some  day  some- 
how or  other  I  should  be  turned  round  by 
God's  mercy  helping  me.  And  I  thank  God 
that  I  was. 

"  It  was  a  Saturday  night.  I  was  more  mis- 
erable than  ever,  and  was  angry  at  myself  for 
feeling  so.  I  was  sitting  in  the  beer-shop  all 
without  a  word,  and  the  rest  were  chaffing  me 
for  being  so  glum,  till  I  felt  as  if  I  must  have 
hit  them,  when  up  comes  the  landlord  with 
my  score.  It  was  two  shillings  and  one  penny. 
I  counted  it  out,  and  flung  it  on  the  table 
among  the  puddles  of  beer.  Then  a  half- 
drunk  fellow  who  had  been  a  Methodist  sings 
out,  '  Eh,  that's  right,  Bill ;  thee  been  takin' 
lessons  from  Mister  Horn — a  penny  a  week 
and  a  shilling  a  quarter — only  it's  for  thy  beer 
score.'  -They  all  laughed  at  it  as  a  wonderful 
joke.  But  that  just  finished  me  up.  I  was 


iiS    MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

mad  with  misery  before,  and  this  capped  it 
all/  For  going  to  hell !  '  I  cried,  and  I  rushed 
out  leaving  the  landlord  and  the  rest  o'  them 
staring. 

"  It  was  a  wild  night  in  March.  The  wind 
howled  and  moaned  about  me.  The  great 
black  clouds  hid  the  moon.  All  was  dreary 
and  desolate  as  if  God  had  forsaken  me.  I 
walked  on,  not  knowing  where  I  went,  or  car- 
ing either,  until  I  got  to  a  lonely  place  down 
on  the  marshes.  I  felt  that  I  was  as  big  a  fool 
as  I  was  a  sinner,  and  I  thought  that  I  would 
kill  myself  and  end  it  all.  The  wind  came 
hissing  in  over  the  water,  muttering  and  whis- 
pering all  kinds  of  dreadful  things.  Now  and 
then  the  moon  would  break  out  for  a  moment, 
and  then  the  darkness  covered  it  all  up  again. 
At  length  my  heart  was  broken,  and  flinging 
myself  on  my  knees,  I  could  pray,  '  God  be  mer- 
ciful to  me  a  sinner  !  '  I  felt  sure  that  if  I  did 
not  get  saved  then  I  never  should.  I  had  put 
it  off  and  off,  and  got  worse  each  time.  If  I 
put  it  off  again  I  should  surely  be  lost.  So  I 
began  to  roar  aloud  in  my  misery  and  earnest- 
ness. I  forgot  all  about  the  time.  I  prayed 
on  hour  after  hour.  The  wind  had  gone  down 


Introduces  us  to  Another  Friend.       119 

— I  remember  as  if  it  were  yesterday.  The 
dawn  was  just  creeping  up,  cold  and  gray. 
Then  came  the  remembrance  of  those  words, 
something  like  this,  '  Jesus  Christ  by  the  grace 
of  God  tastctli  death  for  every  man.'  It  broke 
with  faint  light  upon  my  soul,  but  slowly  it 
came  to  mean  more  and  more — '  For  me  ! '  I 
thought,  and  hoped,  and  half  believed.  For 
every  man  !  I  cried  again.  For  such  a  wretch 
and  drunkard  as  I  had  been !  Ah  !  I  can 
never  tell  how,  but  I  saw  it  all  in  a  moment ! 
'  For  me,'  I  cried,  'yes,  for  me ;  '  '  by  the  grace 
cf  God  for  me.' 

"  I  often  think  of  it,  and  I  sing  those  lines  o* 
the  hymn  book  like  as  if  they  were  put  there 
on  purpose  for  me  : — 

'  "Tis  Love  !  'tis  Love  !  thou  diedst  forme  ; 

I  hear  thy  whisper  in  my  heart ; 
The  morning  breaks,  the  shadows  flee  ; 

Pure,  universal  Love  thou  art : 
To  me,  to  all,  thy  bowels  move, — 
Thy  nature  and  thy  name  is  Love. 

'  I  know  thee,  Saviour,  who  thou  art, — 

Je*us,  the  feeble  sinner's  Friend: 
Nor  wilt  thou  with  the  night  depart, 
But  stay,  and  love  me  to  the  end : 
Thy  mercies  never  shall  remove  ; 
Thy  nature  and  thy  name  is  Love. 


i2o    MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS- 

'  The  Sun  of  Righteousness  on  me 

Hath  risen,  with  healing  in  his  wings  : 
Wither'd  my  nature's  strength,  from  thee 

My  soul  its  life  and  succor  brings  : 
My  help  is  all  laid  up  above  ; 
Thy  nature  and  thy  name  is  Love.' 

It  was  all  right  after  that,  friends.  I'd  tried  it 
in  my  own  strength  before.  Good  resolutions 
and  all  that  wont  hold  a  man  when  the  temp- 
tation comes  on  him.  He  breaks  them  and 
goes  just  where  the  devil  likes  to  drive  him. 
But  when  Jesus  comes  he  turns  the  devil  out, 
and  then  a  man  sits  down  at  those  blessed  feet, 
clothed,  and  in  his  right  mind." 


How  Bill  Smith  Managed. 


121 


CHAPTER  X. 

HOW  BILL  SMITH   MANAGED. 

day  old 
Mrs.  Catch- 
pole,  as  was 
her  custom 
occasionally, 
called  in  to 
see  Widow 

Hunt,  to  en- 

i 

joy  a  little 
gossip  about 
their  neigh- 
bors. 

Life  had 
not  a  great 
many  comforts  for  Widow  Hunt,  but  there  was 
one  so  richly  enjoyed  that  it  made  up  for  all 
deficiencies  in  number  or  variety.  It  was  to 
sit  after  dinner,  when  all  was  "tidied  up,"  in 
her  clean  white  cap  well  frilled  at  the  edges, 

and  to  hear  the  news.     Let  others  soar  after 
8 


122    MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

the  sublime,  and  talk  of  their  lofty  ambition 
Widow  Catchpole's  idea  of  real  happiness 
was  to  hear  the  latest  gossip  of  the  village 
— of  marriages  in  the  bud,  and  whispers  of 
how  Hodge  was  a-keeping  company  with 
Joan  ;  of  marriages  blossoming,  and  how  that 
the  day  was  fixed ;  of  marriages  fruitful,  as 
they  were  always  at  Tattingham,  babies  com- 
ing, babies  come,  and  babies  going  through 
all  the  wonderful  range  of  life  that  belongs 
to  babydom. 

Widow  Hunt's  was  the  rare  gift  of  listening 
well.  Never  obtruding  an  opinion  or  inter- 
rupting any  remark,  she  invariably  came  in 
like  an  echo  at  the  end  of  a  sentence,  faintly 
repeating  the  last  two  or  three  words  with  a 
serious  shake  of  her  head.  To-day  she  sat  on  a 
low  stool  before  the  fire-place,  her  elbows  rest- 
ing on  her  knees,  the  hands  exposing  the  palms 
to  the  grate,  and  her  projecting  chin  turned 
up  toward  the  speaker.  And  seeing  that  the 
day  was  extremely  hot,  and  that  the  fire-place 
shone  brilliant  only  with  black  lead,  it  was  at 
least  creditable  to  the  old  lady's  strength  of 
imagination  that  she  sought  thus  to  screen  her 
face  and  to  warm  her  hands. 


How  Bill  Smith  Managed.  123 

Her  good  friend,  old  Mrs.  Catchpole,  pos- 
sessed the  more  common  gift  and  grace  of 
gossip.  A  shadow — the  faintest  murmur — 
even  a  fancied  whisper,  could  supply  her  with 
gossip  for  a  day.  The  Israelites  made  bricks 
without  straw — judging  from  her  gossip  old 
Mrs.  Catchpole  could  have  made  them  without 
clay.  Out  of  very  little  grew  the  most  amaz- 
ing secrets,  told  as  if  tremendous  issues  hung 
upon  them  ;  and  even  a  passing  glance  sufficed 
to  reveal  to  Mrs.  Catchpole  prodigious  events, 
to  which  the  gunpowder  plot  wasn't  fit  to  hold 
a  candle,  so  to  speak. 

She  had  nodded  to  Bill  Smith  as  she  came  in 
at  Widow  Hunt's  door.  The  lingering  image 
suggested  the  topic  on  which  old  Mrs.  Catch- 
pole  started  as  soon  as  she  sat  down  by  the 
frilled  white  cap,  and  "just  got  her  breath," 
as  she  said, 

"  I  count,  my  dear,  I  do,  as  Bill  Smith  must 
be  a-making  money,"  she  began. 

"  A-making  money,"  mumbled  the  white 
cap  as  it  shook  itself  very  solemnly. 

"  Why,  there,  it  a'nt  more  nor  five  year 
agone  sin'  he  was  a'most  the  poorest  man  in 
the  parish,  a  drinkin'  an*  a  hidlin'  about,  as 


.124    MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

were  quite  disgraceful,  an'  his  wife  lookin'  that 
starved— for  all  she  kep'  herself  to  herself,  and 
thought  as  nobody  knowed  owt  about  it — 
't  were  plain  as  a  pikestaff." 

Mrs.  Catchpole  paused  a  moment  to  catch 
her  breath.  "  Plain  as  a  pikestaff,"  solemnly 
observed  Widow  Hunt,  in  the  tones  of  a  parish 
clerk. 

"  An'  his  children  rags  and  tatters,"  con- 
tinued the  gossip,  before  the  breath  was  fairly 
caught. 

"  Rags  an'  tatters,"  came  in  like  an  echo. 

"  But  now — "  and  Mrs.  Catchpole  nodded 
her  head  and  raised  her  hands,  as  if  words 
were  far  too  weak  to  express  all  she  knew. 

Widow  Hunt  gave  a  prolonged  and  solemn 
shake  of  the  frilled  cap  that  did  duty  at  once 
for  itself  and  the  echo  too. 

This  silence  of  the  two  old  ladies  fairly  ex- 
pressed the  opinions  of  the  village  as  to  Bill 
Smith.  "  He  must  be  a-making  money,"  was 
the  summary  objection  by  which  Mister  Horn 
was  always  defeated  when  he  referred  to  Bill 
as  an  instance  of  flunking  about  giving.  Yet  it 
was  so  obviously  impossible  for  him  to  be  get- 
ting rich,  or  really  saving  much,  that  words 


Hoiv  Bill  Smith  Managed.  125 

generally  gave  way  to  the  convenient  vague- 
ness of  a  nod  or  a  look. 

There  could  be  no  manner  of  doubt  about 
it  that  Bill  Smith  was  a  prosperous  fellow. 
Anybody  must  have  been  blind  if  they  hadn't 
noticed  a  strange  improvement  in  the  look  of 
the  man  and  of  all  about  him.  Even  a  blind  man 
would  have  heard  it.  For  many  a  day  together 
the  smithy  used  to  be  still,  but  now  early  dawn 
seemed  to  wake  the  ringing  anvil  as  well  as 
the  music  of  the  birds.  And  to  wake  the  smith 
himself  as  well  as  the  smithy.  You  used  to 
hear  him  cursing  and  growling ;  now  six  days 
out  of  seven  you'd  hear  Bill  Smith  singing 
away  with  his  bass  voice.  For  smiths  always 
sing — blacksmiths  I  mean — it's  part  of  their 
work.  Some  ingenious  person  has  pointed 
out  how  that  the  father  of  such  as  handle  the 
harp  and  the  organ,  and  the  instructor  of  every 
artificer  in  brass  and  iron,  went  hand  in  hand. 
What  more  likely,  he  asks,  than  that  thought- 
ful Jubal  stood  in  the  smithy  of  his  half-brother, 
Tubal-cain,  listening  to  the  ringing  anvil,  and 
the  double  bass  of  the  bellows,  as  he  reduced 
the  many  sounds  to  the  first  laws  of  harmony, 
and  designed  his  harp  and  organ.  This  at 


126     MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

least  is  certain,  that  every  Tubal-cain  has  been 
half-brother  to  Jubal  ever  since.  It  certainly 
was  worth  getting  up  early  to  hear  Bill  sing 
the  Morning  Hymn,  to  the  old  tune  with  its 
twists  and  twirls  : — 

"  Awake,  my  soul,  and  with  the  sun 
•    Thy  daily  stage  of  duty  run  : 

Shake  off  dull  sloth,  and  joyful  rise, 

To  pay  thy  morning  sacrifice." 

And  then  to  hear  him  whistle  the  air  as  he 
thrust  the  iron  into  the  fire,  and  taking  the 
handle  of  the  bellows,  woke  up  the  sleepy  fire 
into  a  quivering  flame  that  leaped  half  up  the 
chimney.  And  when  the  iron  was  glowing 
white,  it  was  good  to  see  the  sparks  fly  as  the 
merry  ringing  kept  tune  to  the  vigor  of  the 
second  verse : — 

"  Redeem  thy  misspent  moments  past, 
And  live  this  day  as  if  thy  last  ; 
Thy  talents  to  improve  take  care  ; 
For  the  great  day  thyself  prepare." 

Then  came  the  hissing  from  the  trough,  and  the 
steam  half  hid  the  singer  as  he  held  the  hot  iron 
in  the  water,  steadily  singing  the  next  verse  : — • 

"  Let  all  thy  converse  be  sincere, 
Thy  conscience  as  the  noon-day  clear ; 
For  God's  all-seeing  eye  surveys 
Thy  secret  thoughts,  thy  words,  and  ways. 


And  when  the  iron  was  glowing  •white,  it  was  good 
to  see  the  sparks  fly. 


How  Bill  Smith  Managed.  129 

This  solo,  that  proclaimed  Bill's  prosperity 
in  the  smithy,  had  quite  a  chorus  of  its  own 
outside.  There  were  airy  little  hummings  of 
prosperity  in  the  branches  of  the  apple-tree, 
that  bent  down  to.the  ground  with  the  weight 
of  fruit.  The  vine  leaves  that  peeped  in  at 
the  windows  rustled  all  day  long,  gossiping  of 
the  good  things  they  saw  within.  The  four 
grafted  rose-treep  that  stood  in  the  corners  of 
the  grass-plot  grew  up  stately  and  flourishing, 
as  if  conscious  that  they  were  of  the  establish- 
ment, and  prospered  accordingly.  The  tidy 
little  woman  that  flitted  past  the  open  door, 
and  the  cheery  song  that  came  from  within, 
completed  a  vision  of  prosperity.  The  chil- 
dren, too,  that  came  down  the  shady  lane  from 
school,  with  rosy  cheeks  and  glad  voices,  kept 
up  the  impression  ;  and  the  baby !  the  young- 
est mother  in  Tattingham  agreed  that  there 
never  had  been  so  prosperous  a  child  in  the 
place. 

No  wonder,  then,  that  people  talked  of  Bill 
Smith  as  "  a-making  money." 

Moreover,  Bill  thought  himself  as  prosper- 
ous as  any  man  need  be ;  but  then  he  used  the 
word  in  his  own  sense. 


130    MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

"  You  see  with  most  folks  prosperin'  means 
getting  money,  but  I  know  that  it  means  using 
money.  Five  or  ten  shillin'  a  week,  or  twenty 
or  thirty  for  that  matter,  don't  make  a  man 
prosperous  if  he  can't  use  it  when  he's  got  it. 
I  can  remember  the  time  when  the  more  I  had 
the  less  I  prospered — when  more  money  on'y 
meant  more  drink  and  more  want."  This  was 
Bill's  explanation. 

The  fact  was,  that  ever  since  his  conversion 
Bill  had  been  a  favorite  pupil  of  Mister  Horn's. 
He  had  taught  his  master  as  much,  perhaps,  as 
he  had  learned  from  him,  for  it  was  in  fre- 
quent talk  with  him  that  Mister  Horn  often  hit 
upon  the  views  that  he  so  perpetually  advo- 
cated. Moreover,  he  presented  to  Mister  Horn 
precisely  the  subject  that  he  wanted  on  which 
to  test  his  theories.  An  intelligent,  good  man, 
earning  about  his  thirty  shillings  a  week  ;  here 
Mister  Horn  thought  he  might  see  how  his 
opinions  worked. 

It  was  at  the  close  of  a  long  evening  talk 
with  Mister  Horn  that  Bill  first  began  to  carry 
out  his  master's  teaching. 

"  Good  advice  isn't  a  thing  to  be  kept  on  the 
shelf,  and  on'y  looked  at  like  the  doctor's  med- 


How  Bill  Smith  Managed.  1 3 1 

icine  when  a  man's  gettin'  better,"  he  said  to 
his  wife  as  he  sat  down  with  pencil  and  paper 
to  see  how  he  could  "  match  it." 

They  had  been  talking  of  the  scriptural  rule 
— to  lay  by  on  the  first  day  of  the  week,  as 
God  prospered  one.  "  Not  that  what  was  best 
for  some  folks  in  other  times  is  always  best 
for  every  body  in  these,  but  that  if  a  man  can 
get  Scripture  to  build  upon  it's  the  best  and 
most  comfortable  foundation  we  can  have,"  was 
Mister  Horn's  comment  on  the  text. 

So  Bill  sat  with  a  neat  little  money-box  be- 
fore him,  turning  over  the  first  principles  of 
prosperity — using  money. 

The  Bible  lay  open  before  him  at  the  six- 
tenth  chapter  of  the  First  Epistle  to  the  Co- 
rinthians. Bill's  finger  had  gone  slowly  over 
the  second  verse  as  he  whispered  the  words  to 
himself;  then  he  sat  up  and  looked  at  the  fire, 
turning  it  over  for  some  time.  The  thoughts 
very  slowly  shaped  themselves  into  Bill's  prin- 
ciples of  giving. 

"  Seems  to  me  there's  one  thing  as  plain 
as  a  pikestaff,  for  all  I'm  no  scholard — a  man 
ought  to  manage  about  givin  .  He  is  to  lay  by 
for  it,  just  like  he  does  for  his  house-rent,  and 


132     MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

for  half  a  score  o'  things  besides — for  every 
thing  a'most  except  for  giving.  There's  very 
many  folks  can't  give  any  thing  'pon  the  spur 
o'  the  moment,  and  they  think  that  'tis  all 
right  if  they  don't.  But  seems  to  me  'tis  all 
wrong.  They  couldn't  pay  their  rent  'pon  the 
spur  o'  the  moment  either,  but  for  all  that  the 
landlord  expects  to  get  his  money.  A  man  is 
to  lay  by  and  arrange  for  it ;  whether  folks 
hold  with  doing  it  on  the  first  day  o'  the  week 
or  the  last,  they  are  in  a  bad  way  who  don't 
do  it  at  all.  So  that's  the  first  head,  as  the 
preachers  say."  And  Bill  nodded  his  own 
head  with  considerable  satisfaction,  as  if  that 
point  were  settled. 

"  Now  the  next  thing  is  how  much  to  lay 
by,"  he  went  on,  taking  up  his  paper,  and 
biting  the  end  of  his  pencil  as  he  turned  over 
this  question.  "  I  can  make  thirty  shillin'  a 
week,  takin'  one  week  with  another,"  Bill  mut- 
tered slowly;  and  he  paused  again,  gnawing  at 
the  pencil.  '  Well,  s'pose  I  say  three  shilling  a 
week,"  and  he  figured  a  large  three  at  the  top 
of  the  paper.  He  held  it  out  at  arm's  length, 
put  his  head  on  one  side,  and  looked  at  his 
handiwork  with  an  air  of  satisfaction.  "  That's 


Hoiv  Bill  Smith  Managed.  133 

the  second  head  then — three.  I  don't  see  how 
it  can  anyhow  be  less  than  that,  as  Mister 
Horn  says  that  the  Jew  gave  a  tenth,  and  I'm 
not  goin'  to  be  behind  the  Jew.  No,  no,  they 
didn't  know  any  thing  about  what  Paul  said," 
and  Bill  turned  over  three  or  four  pages  of  his 
Bible.  " '  Ye  know,  yc  know  the  grace  of  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ,  that  though  he  was  rich,  yet 
for  your  sakes  he  became  poor,  that  ye  through 
his  poverty  might  be  rich.'  No,  I  can't  give 
less  than  a  tenth,  and  I'm  a'most  thinkin'  that 
I  ought  to  give  more.  Well,  let  that  stand  to 
begin  with — the  more  I  get,  the  more  I'll  give 
of  it." 

And  as  if  to  confirm  what  was  done,  Bill 
stretched  himself  on  the  table,  put  his  head  on 
one  side,  and  thrust  out  his  tongue,  and  having 
wetted  his  pencil  he  went  over  the  large  three 
again . 

Then  he  raised  himself  and  bit  the  pencil 
vigorously,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  felt  him- 
self getting  through  a  difficulty.  "  The  next 
thing  is  what  must  I  lay  by  for.  First  of  all, 
there's  the  Lord's  work,  o'  course.  I  ought  to 
begin  with  that,  I'm  sure,  for  religion  saved 
me  more  than  the  whole  of  it.  Three  shil- 


134    MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

lings !  why  it  wasn't  half  enough  sometimes  to 
pay  for  the  week's  beer.  And  then  religion 
made  me  sober  and  steady,  and  that  brought 
me  in  three  times  as  much.  Besides,  what 
else  is  there  that's  so  well  worth  paying  for  ? 
House-rent  and  doctor's  bill  a'n't  to  be  men- 
tioned in  the  same  breath  along  with  it.  And 
butcher's  meat  and  bread  isn't  such  good  cheer 
as  I  get  out  o'  religion.  Folks  pay  for  them 
as  a  duty ;  but  think  what  religion  costs  isn't 
a  duty  at  all — that's  only  a  charity,  something 
that  isn't  meant  for  any  but  rich  folks  who  can 
afford  it — and  folks  must  be  very  rich  indeed 
before  they  can  see  their  way  to  afford  that. 
And  besides  that,"  Bill  went  on  to  himself, 
"  somehow  I  don't  like  to  think  about  it  all  as 
payin'  debts.  I  want  to  feel  like  Mister  Horn 
puts  it,  as  all  I've  got  belongs  to  my  blessed 
Lord,  and  I'm  put  in  for  kind  of  a  steward, 
who  has  got  to  look  after  the  estate  and  man- 
age to  make  so  much  of  it  as  ever  he  can  for 
his  master.  And  for  a  Master  like  mine — bless 
his  holy  name  ! — how  can  I  ever  do  enough  ?  " 
And  Bill's  whole  soul  woke  up  in  a  moment 
into  a  song  of  praise — plaintively  and  tenderly 
came  the  words — 


How  Bill  Smith  Managed.  135 

See  from  his  head,  his  hands,  his  feet, 
Sorrow  and  love  flow  mingled  down  : 

Did  e'er  such  love  and  sorrow  meet, 
Or  thorns  compose  so  rich  a  crown  ?  " 

And  then  loudly  and  heartily  came  the  next 
verse — 

"Were  the  whole  realm  of  nature  mine, 
That  were  a  present  far  too  small ; 
Love  so  amazing,  so  divine, 

Demands  my  soul,  my  life,  my  all." 

"  But  come,  Bill  Smith ;  good  feelin's  and 
singin'  hymns  wont  settle  the  matter ; "  and 
once  more  the  teeth  worked  at  the  pencil,  as 
Bill  looked  at  the  large  figure  three. 

"  To  begin  with,  there's  class-money — wife 
and  myself.  Without  managin'  I  could  give  a 
penny  a  week,  let's  double  that  and  see  how  it 
looks."  So  that  was  figured — C.  M.  a  quar- 
ter— wife  and  myself ;  4  sJiillin  and  4  pence. 
"  Then  there's  the  ticket — we'll  double  that 
and  see  how  it  looks."  And  that  came  in  an 
uneven  line.  Ticket  M.  ditto,  a  quarter,  4 
shillin'.  "  That  looks  very  pretty,  anyhow," 
cried  Bill  as  he  held  it  out  admiringly.  "  Well, 
but  I  ha'n't  done  yet  by  a  long  way.  There's 
the  collections,  and  the  poor  folk  in  the  place 


136     MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

it  will  be  good  to  have  a  bit  for  them,  so  say 
five  shillin'  more." 

"  But  stop,"  cried  Bill,  somewhat  alarmed, 
"  I'm  goin'  too  fast,"  and  he  added  it  all  up 
and  found  that  it  came  to  thirteen  shillings 
and  fourpence  a  quarter.  "  That  '11  never  do, 
never,"  and  Bill  scratched  his  head  as  if  by 
way  of  waking  up  the  sleeping  brains  inside. 
Then  he  figured  three  times  thirteen,  and 
started  with  blank  astonishment  to  see  it  come 
to  thirty-nine  shillings  a  quarter. 

"  It  can't  be  right,"  said  Bill,  going  over  it 
again ;  and  yet  it  seemed  to  be.  Then,  to  his 
great  relief,  he  heard  his  wife  moving  up  stairs. 
"Missis,"  he  cried  to  his  spouse,  "I'm  in  a 
muddle : "  and  he  was  most  thoroughly  be- 
wildered. "  If  I  spend  three  shillin'  a  week, 
what '11  that  come  to  in  a  quarter?" 

"  Why,  thirty-nine  shillings,  to  be  sure,  Bill, 
wont  it  ? "  said  the  wife  from  the  top  of  the 
stairs  in  an  undertone,  for  Tattingham's  most 
prosperous  baby  had  just  dropped  off  into  an 
infantile  snore  that  was  much  too  musical  to 
be  harshly  disturbed. 

"  So  it  is,"  said  Bill,  putting  39  beside  the 
large  3,  "  and  there's  more  than  five  and  twenty 


How  Bill  Smith  Managed.  137 

shillin'  left  now.  Why,  I  sha'n't  be  able  to  find 
things  enough  to  give  to."  Bill  was  really  em- 
barrassed with  his  riches.  What  should  he 
put  down  next.  As  he  looked  about  in  won- 
der his  eye  fell  on  his  little  maiden's  mission- 
ary box,  and  at  once  another  line  filled  up  the 
paper — missions,  I  penny  a  week — is.  id.  This 
at  on.ce  suggested  home  missions — "  Can't  give 
to  one  without  the  other,"  said  Bill,  as  he  pen- 
ciled a  fifth  entry,  and  arranged  for  another 
is.  id. 

There  followed  a  more  prolonged  pause  than 
ever,  and  the  pencil  could  scarcely  bear  the 
more  vigorous  application  of  the  teeth,  when 
Bill  remembered  that  the  parson  at  Tatting- 
ham  collected  for  the  Bible  Society,  and  called 
now  and  then  for  a  trifle.  So  down  went  an- 
other penny  a  week,  and  at  the  end  of  another 
crooked  line  there  appeared  another  is.  id.  a 
quarter.  Four  and  fourpence  a  year.  Per- 
haps, if  Bill  had  known  it,  he  would  scarcely 
have  been  so  "  owdacious,"  for  the  squire  who 
owned  the  parish  could  only  afford  five  shil- 
lings a  year. 

And  now  what  else  was  there  ?      The  pencil 
wouldn't  stand  the  much  more  severe  attack 


138     MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

from  those  sharp  teeth — and  yet  here  he  could 
think  of  nothing  more,  and  had  a  good  deal 
over  a  pound  to  get  rid  of  every  quaiter. 
Then  came  a  resolution  to  take  a  pew  in  Tat- 
tingham  Chapel,  thinking  that  he  could  afford 
to  be  comfortable.  It  was  with  a  positive 
relief  that  he  wrote  down  that  "four  shilliri 
a  quarter" 

Then  adding  it  up  once  more  Bill  was  an- 
noyed, almost  angry,  to  find  that  it  only  came 
to  twenty  shillings  and  sevenpence.  Then  the 
good  wife  came  to  his  relief. 

"  I  am  fairly  muddled,  and  can't  match  it 
no  how,"  said  Bill,  scratching  his  head  with 
one  hand,  and  holding  out  the  paper. 

"  Can't  you  see  your  way  to  save  as  much  as 
you  wanted  ?"  she  said,  looking  over  his  shoul- 
der at  the  figures. 

"  Nay — it's  just  the  other  way  about  that 
beats  me — I  can't  find  things  enough  to  give 
to.  We  're  too  rich,  too  rich,  missis." 

"  Ah !  you've  forgotten  the  children,"  said 
the  wife,  as  she  ran  quickly  over  Bill's  figures 
— "  three  of  them  for  schooling,  that's  two- 
pence a  week,  that's  six  shillings  and  sixpence 
a  quarter." 


Hoiv  Bill  SmitJi  Managed.  139 

Bill  shook  his  head  doubtfully — "  Nay,  dear, 
I  don't  think  that  '11  do.  You  see  it's  a  tenth 
for  the  Lord,  and  I  might  as  well  put  down 
their  clothin'  an'  food  to  his  account  as  their 
education." 

"  Well,  but  there's  the  club,  can't  you  put 
that  in  ?  "  said  the  wife,  anxious  to  help  her 
husband. 

"  Nay,  wife,  that  wont  do  either,"  said  Bill. 
"  You  see  if  I  begin  to  bring  myself  in  at  all,  I 
might  come  in  for  it  all." 

At  last  husband  and  wife  gave  in.  "  There 
it  is,"  said  Bill,  "  eighteen  shillin'  and  five- 
pence  for  the  Lord  whenever  he  wants  it.  He 
knows  it's  there  and  he'll  send  somebody 
to  fetch  it,  for  he  knows  a  good  many  who 
need  it." 

So  Bill  put  up  his  pencil  and  paper.  "  I'll 
never  believe  anybody  again  as  long  as  I  live, 
when  they  say  they  can't  afford  to  give.  They 
can  afford  sixpence  a  day  in  beer  and  tobacco 
very  often,  and  they  can  go  foolin'  away  their 
money  in  a  score  of  ways.  There's  only  one 
reason  why  folks  can't  afford  to  give,  and  that 
is,  because  they  afford  so  much  for  every  thing 

else.     Why,  if  a  man  would  put  by  sixpence  a 
9 


140    MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

week  he'd  very  likely  be  able  to  give  six  times 
as  much  as  he  does — and  he'd  be  able  to  do  it, 
as  the  Book  says,  not  grudgingly  or  of  neces- 
sity, but  like  a  cheerful  giver  that  the  Lord 
loves." 


A  Homily  of  Mister  Horn  's. 


141 


CHAPTER  XI. 

A  HOMILY   OF  MISTER  HORN'S. 

'E  thought  of 
it,  he  prayed 
about  it,  and 
he  had  for  a 
long  time  al- 

,  most  deter- 
mined to  do 

i 

•it.  At  last, 
as  though  it 
could  be  no 
longer  held 
back,  the  re- 
solve leaped 
forth  with  a 
very  decided  "/'//  do  if,"  and  the  ash  stick 
came  down  with  an  equally  vigorous  A  men. 

Mister   Horn    would    preach    a   sermon   all 
about  giving. 

How  it  came  about  was  on  this  wise. 


142    MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

It  was  in  the  autumn  as  Mister  Horn  went 
through  the  woods  of  which  he  had  the  man- 
agement. He  had  been  marking  trees  for  the 
woodman's  ax — a  work  full  of  varied  suggestion 
to  his  quick  mind.  The  day  was  one  of  those 
October  days,  most  beautiful  of  all  the  year, 
in  which  autumn,  sinking  beneath  the  touch  of 
winter,  arrays  herself  in  her  loveliness,  and 
takes  the  last  lingering  look  at  her  own  beauty  ; 
days  in  which  the  fell  destroyer  seems  stayed, 
and  charmed  and  smitten  with  love  to  his  vic- 
tim. The  sunshine  lit  up  the  red  gold  of  the 
foliage,  and  crept  between  the  scantier  leaves 
upon  the  mossy  branches  and  down  to  briered 
nooks,  while  here  and  there  a  leaf  came  flut- 
tering to  the  leafy  path  below.  The  robin 
tried  with  brave  music  to  wake  the  dead  sum- 
mer, and  stopped  often,  as  if  listening  and 
wondering  that  there  was  no  answer.  The  still- 
ness, the  loneliness,  the  "seriousness,"  of  all 
about  him  found  in  Mister  Horn  a  ready  heart 
for  the  sermon  they  preached.  At  length  he 
paused  in  front  of  a  withered  tree.  The  leaf- 
less branches  rose  up  naked  and  black  against 
the  blue  sky,  the  trunk  ran  down  bare  and 
black  to  the  earth  ;  no  moss  grew  about  it,  no 


A  Homily  of  Mister  Horn's.  143 

nests  hung  in  it  telling  of  generous  shelter  to 
the  fowls  of  the  air,  no  withered  leaves  lay 
heaped  around  it,  a  bank  of  golden  blessings. 
Mister  Horn  took  the  chalk  from  his  pocket, 
muttering — "  Not  that  it's  any  good  to  any 
body,  but  it'll  be  out  o'  the  way."  He  stood 
for  a  moment  looking  up  at  it.  Beyond  there 
stretched  branches  of  other  trees,  vigorous  and 
beautiful ;  on  every  hand  was  life.  He  nodded 
his  head  and  tightened  his  lips — "  That's  it," 
he  said  to  himself,  "  that's  it  all  the  world  over ; 
keep  all,  lose  all ;  give  all,  save  all ;  trees  and 
men — it's  all  one.  The  life  that  has  gone  out 
in  doing  good — look  at  it  coming  back  here  in 
these  leaves,  to  lie  with  warmth  and  life  around 
them  through  the  winter ;  but  you,  old  friend, 
who  kept  it  all  to  yourself,  will  get  nothing 
back.  You've  kept  your  life  to  yourself,  and 
now  you're  no  good  as  tree  or  as  timber.  Cut 
it  down  " —  and  the  chalk  lines  doomed  it  to 
speedy  destruction. 

As  Mister  Horn  went  on  his  way  the  dead 
tree  became  a  text  out  of  which  sprang  a  mul- 
titude of  similes  and  illustrations — a  swarm  of 
thoughts  came  and  lodged  in  the  branches 
thereof,  diverse  and  manifold,  but  all  leading 


144    MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

to  one  conclusion  :  "  Unto  everyone  that  hath 
shall  be  given,  and  he  shall  have  abundance ; 
but  from  him  that  hath  not  shall  be  taken 
away  even  that  which  he  hath." 

At  last  these  feelings  and  thoughts  and  fig- 
ures gathered  themselves  together  in  the  reso- 
lution, "Til do  it"  Then  Mister  Horn  had 
pledged  himself  to  a  homily  on  giving. 

One  Sunday  morning,  about  a  fortnight  aft- 
er, the  sermon  was  launched  in  Tattingham 
chapel. 

The  text  was  a  harder  matter  with  Mister 
Horn  than  the  sermon,  for  thoughts  had  been 
collected  so  long  that  a  text  was  rather  a  center 
of  attraction  about  which  they  gathered  than 
a  seed  out  of  which  the  thoughts  grew,  and  it 
was  difficult  to  find  which  they  fitted  best.  It 
was,  perhaps,  rather  because  he  must  choose 
one,  than  that  it  was  the  best,  that  he  took 
Ecclesiastes  v,  13: — 

"  There  is  a  sore  evil  which  I  have  seen  wider 
the  sun,  namely,  riches  kept  for  the  owners  there- 
of to  their  hurt." 

"  Now,  my  dear  friends,  I  am  going  to  try 
and  say  something  about  money. 

" '  Preach  the  Gospel  and  let  money  alone,' 


A  Homily  of  Mister  Horn  's.  145 

does  somebody  say  ?    Preach  the  Gospel  I  will, 
by  the  Lord's  help,  and  because  it  is  the  Gos- 
pel it  wont  let  money  alone.     The  Gospel  has 
a  good  deal  more  to  do  with  our  money  than 
perhaps,  most  of  us  would  care  to  know. 

"  Now  money,  for  all  it's  a  very  good  thing 
in  its  place,  is  the  most  hurtful  of  all  things  if 
a  man  don't  see  to  it  and  manage  it  right.  The 
Bible  is  full  of  how  men  have  been  hurt  by 
money  ;  and  the  only  scene  in  which  we  hear  a 
wretched  creature  crying  in  hell  is  in  the  story 
of  a  rich  man  whose  one  sin  was  that  he  had 
his  good  things  in  this  life.  Money  may  hurt 
men  in  three  ways. 

"  FIRST,  it  may  hurt  wen  in  the  way  they  try 
to  get  it. 

"  Everybody  ought  to  begin  there.  Let  them 
see  to  it  that  that  is  all  right.  I've  known  folks  to 
go  into  some  business  for  the  sake  of  the  money, 
and  think  they  wouldn't  get  any  hurt.  They 
might  as  well  step  gently  off  the  church  tower 
and  expect  to  come  down  all  right.  When  I 
used  to  be  sinkin'  wells,  I  always  lowered  a 
candle  before  I  went  down  myself — if  the  can- 
dle burned  all  steady,  I  knew  I  could  go  down  ; 
bu:  if  the  candle  flickered  and  went  out,  I  knew 


146    MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

that  wouldn't  do  for  me.  Let  a  man  let  down 
the  candle  o'  the  Lord,  first,  and  if  that'll  burn, 
the  man  wont  hurt.  But  that  candle  is  choked 
out  if  a  man  will  keep  a  public  house,  and  get 
all  kinds  o'  company,  and  all  sorts  o'  talk,  and 
all  sorts  o'  mischief  brewin'— that  air  will  put 
out  religion,  and  soul,  and  all.  Or,  if  people 
will  go  where  they  have  to  act  lies,  and  to 
measure  lies,  and  to  shuffle  and  dodge  and  do 
underhand  things,  that  will  choke  all  that's 
good  in  them.  They  say  they  must  live  some- 
how. I  heard  tell  once  about  a  lot  of  hungry 
people  in  Germany,  who,  in  a  time  o'  want, 
were  going  to  break  into  some  corn-mills,  when 
Luther  met  them  and  asked  them  what  they 
were  doing.  Then  up  comes  a  stout  fellow, 
and  quoth  he,  '  Master  Luther,  we  must  live.' 
'  Live,'  thundered  Luther,  'why  must  ye  live? 
I  only  know  one  must.  /  know  that  we  must  be 
honest' 

11  But  it's  so  hard  to  keep  money  from  hurtin' 
us  that  even  in  good  and  lawful  callings  men 
very  often  hurt  themselves.  When  a  man  will 
work  so  hard  and  so  long  that  he  can  only 
yawn  over  his  Bible  for  a  few  moments,  and 
then  fall  asleep  on  his  knees  and  call  it  his 


A  Homily  of  Mister  Horn's.  147 

prayers ' — that  man  is  sufferin'  from  a  deadly 
hurt.  Woe,  woe  to  them  who  have  in  business 
set  their  hearts  upon  money,  and  make  haste 
to  be  rich  !  It's  the  week-night  service,  or  the 
man's  class  night :  '  Ho,  friend,  are  you  com- 
ing with  us  ? '  Bless  you,  no  !  he's  off,  so  very 
busy,  so  much  to  do — he  must  make  haste  to 
be  rich.  Ah,  if  he  could  stay  long  enough  he 
might  see  the  sorrowful  eyes  of  Jesus  follow- 
ing him  with  a  tender  pity  ;  he  might  hear  the 
words  sadly  spoken  of  him,  Alas  !  '  how  hard- 
ly shall  they  that  have  riches  enter  into  the  king- 
dom of  God  !  ' 

"  Ay,  and  there  is  worse  hurt  than  tnis, 
though  this  is  bad  enough.  When  a  man  gets 
it  by  grinding  down  them  that  work  for  him — 
that's  a  gain  that  will  hurt  the  owner  thereof 
for  ever  and  ever.  The  profit  that's  got  by 
beating  down  the  fair  price  of  things,  and  by 
wringing  hard  bargains — why  the  miserable 
priests  and  scribes  who  had  egged  on  Judas  and 
prompted  him  to  his  accursed  work  wouldn't 
touch  blood  money — the  pieces  might  perish 
with  him !  Touch  it  !  I  wouldn't  touch  it 
with  a  pair  of  tongs  a  mile  long.  I  saw  one 
day  by  the  roadside  a  well  where,  in  old  time, 


£48    MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

when  that  parish  had  the  plague,  the  people 
put  the  money  for  the  provisions  that  were 
brought  to  them — the  water  cleansed  the  coins. 
But  there  is  money — gold  and  silver  and  pence 
• — that  has  the  curse  of  shortened  lives  upon 
it,  the  curse   of  ruined  health,  of  poor  little 
starved  children,  of  injured  women,  of  wronged 
v/idows,  and  worst  of  all,  of  lost  souls — the  sea 
itself  couldri t  wash  it  clean  !     Like  the  foolish 
stories  we  heard  when  we  were   little,  about 
how  wise  magicians  could  rub  a  coin  and  call 
up  all  kinds  of  visions,  there  are  coins  to-day 
that    when   you    touch    them    ought  to    con- 
jure up  a  crowd  of  folks  underfed  and  over- 
worked.     Folks    all    hollow-eyed,  with  white, 
hungry  faces,  and  long,  bony  fingers  that  point 
at  men  and  curse  them.     They  shall  have  their 
turn  some  day.     God  is  slow,  but  sure,  and  his 
book  says,  '  Your  gold  and  silver  is  cankered ; 
and  the  rust  of  them  shall  be  a  witness  against 
you,  and  shall  eat  your  flesh  as  it  were  fire.    Ye 
have  heaped  treasure  together  for  the  last  days. 
Behold  the  hire  .  .  .  which  is  of  you  kept  back 
by  fraud,  crieth,  and  the  cries  .  .  .  are  entered 
into  the  ears  of  the  Lord  of  Sabaoth.'     Take 
good  heed  how  ye  get  money. 


A  Homily  of  Mister  Horn's.  143 

"  SECONDLY,  Money  may  hurt  men  by  ike 
way  they  spend  it. 

"  If  the  owner  thereof  spends  it  all  in  luxury 
and  self-indulgence,  that  is  a  hurt  that  he  may 
perhaps  never  get  over. 

"  Nothing  in  God's  book  is  more  dreadful 
or  more  startling  than  the  story  of  the  man 
who  had  got  enough  to  buy  all  dainty  dishes 
and  unheard-of  wines.  Plenty  to  eat  and  noth- 
ing to  do  —  why,  what  more  could  any  body 
want  ?  Ah  !  he  found  out  what  more  a  man 
wants  before  the  next  day  dawned.  For  the 
sentence  had  gone  out,  '  Thou  fool,  this  night 
thy  soul  shall  be  required  of  thee.'  He  was 
dead,  and  left  his  barns  to  some  third  cousin 
of  whom  he  knew  nothing — dead,  and  could 
not  take  a  farthing  of  it  with  him — dead  and 
buried,  and  the  Lord  wrote  the  epitaph:  'So 
is  lie  that  laycth  up  treasure  for  himself,  and  is 
not  rich  toward  God' 

"  And  see  ye,  my  friends,  ye  don't  need 
burstin'  barns  and  much  goods  laid  up  before 
you  get  hurt  this  way.  In  the  woods  I've  come 
across  the  adders,  and  I  know  that  if  the  big 
ones  want  most  kill  in'  the  little  ones  carry 
poisoned  tonguts.  A  man  can  let  ten  shillin' 


150    MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

a-week  bite  him  like  a  serpent.  I'd  rather  that 
you  should  find  this  old  frame  of  mine  in  the 
rags  of  a  tramp,  starved  to  death  in  a  ditch, 
than  have  money  hurt  me  as  some  in  this  parish 
let  a  week's  wages  hurt  'em.  In  all  the  world's 
hurts  and  harms  the  worst  is  to  see  a  man 
staggering  home  drunk,  cursing  his  Maker,  go- 
ing home  mad  enough  to  do  any  thing  that's 
cruel  and  devilish. 

"  Then  there's  the  hurt  o'  spending  money 
too  fast — quite  a  plague  in  these  times.  The 
men  must  be  counted  gentlefolks,  and  the 
women  must  look  never  so  smart — till  some- 
body must  go  short.  When  the  money's  done 
the  bills  come  in,  and  then — '  Preach  the  Gos- 
pel ! '  Ay,  my  friends,  it's  about  time  some- 
body did,  for  the  Gospel  says,  Owe  no  man 
any  thing.  It  says,  Provide  things  honest. 
It  says,  Do  to  others  as  ye  would  be  done  by. 
The  Gospel !  It's  the  Gospel  for  the.  day  and 
the  Epistle  too — Pay  your  twenty  shillings  in 
the  pound. 

"  There  was  a  good  prayer  I  knew  a  man  to 
offer  once — a  very  good  prayer.  A  brother 
was  praying  with  much  noise  for  faith — soul- 
saving  faith,  sin-killing  faith,  devil-driving  faith. 


A  Homily  of  Mister  Horn 's.          151 

There  was  a  quiet  friend  near  him  to  whom 
the  noisy  brother  owed  a  long  bill, — '  Amen, 
said  the  quiet  friend ;  '  Amen,  and  give  us  debt- 
paying  faith,  too.'  My  friends,  we  want  that 
faith  nowadays.  People  don't  believe  in  a  re- 
ligion that  doesn't  do  that.  And  they  may 
well  not  believe  in  it,  for  he  that  doesn't  do 
his  duty  to  his  brother,  whom  he  hath  seen, 
how  will  he  do  his  duty  to  his  God,  whom  he 
hath  not  seen.  Take  good  heed  how  ye  spend 
money. 

"  The  tJdrd  way  that  money  may  hurt  the 
owners  thereof  is  the  way  they  keep  it. 

"  The  rich  fool  is  better  one  way  than  the 
miser.  He  did  get  something  out  of  his 
money.  The  miser  turns  every  thing  into 
money  and  gets  nothing  out  of  it.  The  rich 
man  fared  sumptuously  every  day,  and  was 
clothed  in  purple  and  fine  linen ;  as  Father 
Abraham  told  him,  he  had  his  good  things  in 
his  life-time.  But  the  miser,  who  grudges  him- 
self the  moldy  crust  that  he  eats,  is  a  Lazarus  in 
this  world  and  a  Dives  in  the  next ;  he  has  his 
evil  things  both  ways.  However,  there  isn't 
much  to  choose  between  them,  the  spendthrift 
and  the  miser — they  both  keep  all  their  money 


152    MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

for  their  own  selves,  and  that  is  keeping  it  to 
their  hurt.  Hurt  indeed  !  No  poor  slave  ever 
had  such  a  hard  time  as  money  will  lead  a  man 
if  once  it  gets  the  upper  hand  of  any  body. 
To  see  a  man  that  God  made  in  his  own  image 
and  likeness  sink  down  lean,  shriveled,  and 
yellow,  careless  of  hunger  and  cold,  of  dark- 
ness and  filth,  if  his  old  withered  hand  can  but 
clutch  the  money-bag — goodness  and  heaven, 
his  God  and  his  neighbor,  his  body  and  soul, 
all  bargained  away  for  a  little  bit  more  of  his 
darling  money — that's  money  kept  to  the  hurt 
of  the  owner  thereof.  Yet  it  is  almost  as  bad 
to  see  one  who  has  been  a  simple,  godly  fellow 
getting  rich,  and  as  the  money  comes,  to  see 
him  growing  careless  and  dead,  slowly  swelling 
himself  out  with  conceit,  until  he  is  too  full  of 
himself  to  hold  any  thing  else,  and  money  is 
more  to  him  than  all  besides — God  or  neigh- 
bor, heaven  or  hell.  Then,  too,  the  miser 
does  hide  himself  in  his  dingy  corner,  buried, 
earth  to  earth ;  but  the  rich  fools  come  swag- 
gering into  sunshine,  putting  '  the  old  man ' 
into  every  body  by  their  high  and  mighty 
manners.  There  isn't  much  to  choose  between 
'em, — the  miser  and  the  fool.  In  both  cases 


A  Homily  of  Mister  Horn  's.  153 

money  thus  kept  is  kept  to  the  hurt  of  the 
owners  thereof. 

"  There's  many  a  man  who  has  got  his 
money  by  honest,  hard  work,  and  had  as  much 
right  to  it  as  any  body  could  have,  and  who 
has  spent  it  harmlessly  enough,  yet  his  money 
has  become  an  eternal  curse.  He  didn't  man- 
age it  right  when  he  got  it.  It  is  like  that 
story  in  Paul's  travels  where  the  Barbarians 
showed  them  no  little  kindness.  The  shiver- 
ing, drenched  company  gathered  round  the 
fire,  but  out  o'  the  same  ruddy  flame  crept  a 
viper  that  fastened  on  Paul's  arm,  a  '  venomous 
beast.'  Ah !  out  o'  men's  luxuries  and  com- 
forts creeps  the  old  serpent — indolence,  forget- 
fulness  of  God,  self-indulgence,  pride ;  and  it 
has  coiled  round  and  round  till  you  see  them 
fall  down  dead  in  soul  and  spirit,  unless  they 
have  the  pluck  to  shake  it  off  into  the  fire  by 
the  Lord's  help,  and  to  stand  forth  among  the 
heathen  as  men  of  God. 

"  Now  the  first  thing  is  for  a  man  to  think 
about  managing  it. 

"  Money  is  like  every  thing  else ;  it  don't 
do  to  be  left  to  itself.  'A  child  left  to  itself 
bringeth  its  mother  to  shame/  saith  the  wise 


154    MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

man.  A  garden  left  to  itself  bringeth  its 
owner  to  weeds,  and  a  colt  left  to  itself  bring- 
eth its  master  to  the  ground.  Every  thing 
must  be  taken  hold  of  the  right  way,  and  man- 
aged. And  the  right  way  to  manage  money 
is  to  give  rightly.  But  how  many  of  us  ever 
thought  about  giving — how  much  we  ought  to 
give  away  in  the  year,  and  what  we  ought  to 
give  to?  We  think  about  getting — that's  very 
certain.  And  we  think  about  spending,  too ; 
but  as  to  giving — well,  when  you've  had  to  give 
you've  given ;  when  the  box  has  come  round, 
and  you  didn't  like  to  give  a  nod,  you've  put 
something  in,  you  didn't  think  of  it  before- 
hand or  after.  If  you  want  to  keep  money 
from  hurting  you, you  must  think  as  much  about 
givin  as  get  tin  .  That's  a  very  plain  direction 
in  Paul's  letter  to  the  Corinthians:  '  Upon  the 
first  day  of  the  week  let  eveiy  one  of  you  lay 
by  him  in  store,  as  God  hath  prospered  him.' 
That  was  before  the  collection.  They  weren't 
to  come  to  the  service  and  give  any  thing  that 
they  might  happen  to  have  about  them,  (if  it 
were  only  little  enough,)  nor  to  nudge  their 
neighbor  and  trouble  him  for  the  loan  of  a 
three-penny  bit,  nor  to  bow  to  the  plate  as  if 


A  Homily  of  Mister  Horn  '$.  155 

politeness  would  build  a  chapel  or  pay  for  a 
missionary.  They  were  once  a  week  to  think 
how  muck  ought  I  to  give  ?  '  and  they  were  to 
put  that  by.  What  a  blessing  it  would  be  to 
us  here  in  Tattingham  if  we  tried  that  plan ! 
We  shouldn't  have  the  devil  trippin'  up  souls 
with  that  straw — for  most  of  us  are  little  babes 
in  Christ,  easily  upset — which  keeps  you  away 
from  class  for  weeks  together:  'You  haven't 
paid  your  class  money,  and  it's  so  many  weeks 
that  you're  ashamed  to  go  and  not  pay.  Stay 
home  to-night.'  And  so  the  devil  has  made 
many  a  poor  backslider  just  out  of  that.  There 
would  be  the  money  put  by  for  that,  ready 
and  waitin',  if  people  would  do  as  their  Bible 
says.  Think  about  it,  and  arrange  for  it  as  the 
Lord  has  prospered  you.  And  if  you  want  to 
kno\v  how  much  the  Lord  has  prospered  you, 
ask  yourself  how  much  you've  got  that  God 
could  take  away.  So  then,  if  you  don't  want 
nioncy  to  hurt  you,  think  about  giving,  and 
arrange  for  it. 

"  There  is  a  good  old  saying,  '  Riches  take 
to  themselves  wings  and  fly  away,  and  he  who 
would  keep  'em  must  clip  their  wings  by  giv- 

in'  ; '  but  that   is  only  half  the  truth.     Money 
10 


156    MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

is  like  the  fiery  little  Bantam  cocks  that  fly  at 
every  body  with  spur  and  bill ;  men  must  clip 
their  wings  not  only  that  they  ma'n't  fly  away, 
but  also  that  they  ma'n't  fly  at  them.  People 
make  a  great  mistake  who  think  of  charity  in 
a  one-sided  way.  It  isn't  only  to  relieve  the 
poor,  but  to  keep  money  from  hurtin'  the 
owners  thereof,  and  the  greatest  curse  that 
could  come  upon  men  would  be  to  have  all 
rich  and  no  poor.  It's  a  blessing  for  the  rich, 
that  truth  of  our  Saviour's, '  The  poor  ye  have 
always  with  you.'  Folks  often  excuse  them- 
selves, saying  they  can't  afford  to  give ;  but  if 
they  saw  things  in  a  truer  light  they'd  say  that 
they  couldn't  afford  to  keep.  Look  at  that 
story  of  the  good  Samaritan,  of  whom  Jesus 
says  to  us,  '  Go  thou  and  do  likewise.'  Ex- 
cuses !  why  that  Samaritan  might  have  made 
them  by  the  score.  He  might  have  thought, 
as  you  do  when  you  see  any  wretched  object, 
'  Ah,  if  this  fellow  had  been  sober  and  indus- 
trious, depend  upon  it  he  wouldn't  have  come 
to  this.  Besides,  he  has  no  claim  upon  me, 
and  why  should  he  expect  me  to  trouble  my- 
self about  him.  Then  again,  these  fellows  are 
so  ungrateful,  one  may  kill  one's  self  over  'em, 


A  Homily  of  Mister  Horn 's.  157 

and  never  get  a  single  thank-ye.  And  if  I 
begin  to  help  there's  no  knowing  where  it'll 
end — he'll  want  oil  and  wine,  and  they're  ex- 
pensive things,  and  I  shall  have  none  for  my- 
self. I  shall  have  to  lift  him  up  on  my  mule 
and  trudge  alongside — roads  are  rough,  and 
I'm  a  bad  walker.  If  I  take  him  to  the  inn 
there's  twopence  gone  at  once !  And  what 
with  my  staying  about  minding  him,  my  day 
will  be  wasted  and  night  will  overtake  me,  and 
that's  not  a  pleasant  thing  in  a  place  that 
swarms  with  robbers.'  So  he  might  have  said. 
And  comin'  nearer,  still  undecided,  he  catches 
sight  of  the  Jewish  features.  That  might 
have  crowned  the  excuses,  and  the  Samari- 
tan might  have  gone  off  muttering  something 
about  riding  to  the  next  village  and  telling 
them  of  it,  and  they  might  do  as  they  would. 

"  But  he  got  off  and  gave  the  poor  fellow  oil 
and  wine,  and  tore  strips  off  his  own  robes  to 
dress  the  wounds ;  he  led  him  gently  on  the 
mule,  he  paid  his  bill  at  the  inn,  he  rode  home 
along  the  dangerous  road.  Yet  I  tell  you  that 
poor  man  who  had  fallen  among  thieves  gave 
back  as  much  as  he  got.  Self-denial  is  a  more 
heavenly  thing  than  a  little  oil  and  wine ;  the 


158    MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

blessed  sense  of  having  done  one's  duty  is 
cheaply  bought  for  twopence  and  a  lift  on  the 
mule  ;  that  joy,  (like  heaven  in  its  depth  and 
all-unsullied  purity,)  that  springs  from  a  good 
deed  well  done,  is  a  bargain  if  a  man  sells  all 
that  he  has  to  buy  it.  To  think  about  giving 
and  to  fairly  arrange  to  do  it  is  the  first  thing. 

"  To  give  as  much  as  you  can  is  the  second 
thing. 

"  Now  you  all  agree  with  that,  I  know,  what- 
ever you  think  of  what  I  have  said  already,  or 
what  J  am  going  to  say.  Every  body  shakes 
his  head  very  piously,  '  O,  yes,  we  all  ought  to 
give  as  much  as  we  can  ; '  and  one  would  think 
that  we  were  a  set  of  angels  if  he  didn't  do 
more  than  listen  to  us. 

"  This  man  has  sixteen  shillings  a  week,  and 
he  gives  as  much  as  he  can.  '  There's  rent, 
you  know,  and  rates,  and  they  are  heavy  in 
this  parish ;  and  there's  food,  and  times  are 
hard  now ;  and  there's  children,  and  clothing, 
and  the  club.  I  should  like  to  know  what  I 
can  give  out  of  that.'  So  he  gives  as  much  as 
he  can — and  that  is  nothing. 

"  Here  is  another  man,  getting  his  thirty  shil- 
lings a  week.  He  gives  as  much  as  he  can, 


A  Homily  of  Mister  Horn 's.  1 59 

certainly.  He  can't  make  ends  meet  on  that. 
He  is  in  debt  to  every  body  —  the  publican 
first,  and  then,  of  course,  to  every  body  else. 
Tell  me  whose  name  is  chalked  down  on  the 
door  of  '  The  Green  Man,'  and  I'll  tell  you 
who  owes  money  to  the  grocer,  and  butcher, 
and  baker,  and  doctor,  and  by  and  by  to  every 
rate-payer  in  the  parish  ;  for  if  he  doesn't  want 
them  to  keep  him  in  the  workhouse,  they'll 
have  to  find  him  a  grave,  and  to  bury  him  in 
it.  He,  too,  thinks  he  gives  as  much  as  he 
can — and  he  gives  nothing. 

"  But  here  is  a  gentleman  in  the  receipt  of 
five  pounds  a  week.  '  Now,'  says  sixteen  shil- 
lings a  week,  '  you'll  get  something  there.' 
'  That's  the  place  to  go  to,'  says  thirty  shillings 
a  week,  '  he's  a  rich  man.'  *  Well,  sir,  you  think 
every  body  ought  to  give  as  much  as  he  can  ? ' 
'  Of  course,'  says  he,  '  of  course,  Mister  Horn, 
we  all  ought  to  do  that,  you  know.  But — 'em 
— you  see  a  man  in  my  position  has  so  many 
claims — and  he  has  to  keep  up  appearances, 
you  know — and  he  must  mix  a  little  with  so- 
ciety— a  little,  you  know,  for  the  sake  of  the 
children  : '  and  —  'em — well,  he  gives  as  much 
as  he  can  give,  and  he  gives  nothing — that  is, 


160    MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

if  he  can  help  it,  for  sometimes  a  good  cus- 
tomer asks  him  for  a  subscription,  and  his 
business  is  obliged  to  afford  what  his  religion 
wouldn't. 

"  But  now  we  shall  be  rewarded.  This  is  a 
rich  man  here.  Bless  you,  he's  worth  five  hun- 
dred a  year — ten  pounds  a  week.  What  a  pret- 
ty place  he  has.  '  Ah/  says  sixteen  shillings, 
'  if  I  were  only  like  him,  what  I  would  do 
then  ! '  '  To  be  sure,'  says  thirty  shillings,  '  no 
man  should  be  '  wasting  his  time  on  us  when 
he  can  get  all  that  he  wants  there."  '  He  can 
afford  it/  says  two  hundred  a  year.  So  we 
come  before  him.  Here  he  is,  walking  round 
his  garden.  '  What  a  pretty  place  you've  got 
here,  sir/  '  Yes  ;  but  it  costs  me  a  good  deal  to 
keep  it  up,  you  know.  These  things  always 
want  looking  after.'  'This  your  dog,  sir?  a 
handsome  fellow.'  '  He  ought  to  be  ;  he  cost 
enough,  and  it  takes  a  round  sum  in  the  year 
to  feed  him.  But  walk  in  and  have  a  glass  of 
wine  ;  I've  got  some  nice  old  port.'  '  No,  sir, 
excuse  me,  please.  I  just  called  to  ask  you  a 
question.  I  have  been  talking  to  some  folks 
in  the  village,  and  their  opinion  is  that  every 
body  ought  to  give  as  much  as  he  can.  May 


A  Homily  of  Mister  Horn  's.  161 

I  ask  you  what  you  think  ?  '  '  Certainly,  cer- 
tainly ;  that's  right  enough.  Every  body  ought 
to  give  as  much  as  he  can.  My  own  case  is 
peculiar,  you  know.  My  expenses  are  so  nu- 
merous, and  there  are  so  many  claims,  and 
so  much  of  my  income  has  to  go  into  the 
business,  that  I  cannot  do  what  I  should  like 
to,  though  I  give  what  I  can.'  Of  course,  and 
so  he,  too,  gives  nothing.  (Then  Mister  Horn's 
voice  grew  sad  and  solemn  in  its  tones.)  And 
all  the  time  there  stands  by  us  the  blessed 
Lord,  who  gives  us  strength  and  sense  to  get 
our  living  ;  who  gives  us  the  food  we  eat  and 
the  clothes  we  wear.  There  he  stands  with 
bleeding  feet  and  pierced  hands,  and  his  brow 
torn  with  the  crown  of  thorns.  He  was  rich, 
and  for  our  sakes  became  poor.  He  laid  down 
his  life  for  us.  And  now  he  sees  us  griping  and 
grasping  all,  afraid  of  our  lives  lest  he  should 
get  a  farthing  of  it !  O,  it  is  enough  to  make 
the  angels  who  cast  their  crowns  before  him 
weep.  And  the  time  is  coming  when  we  shall 
weep  about  it  too,  and  no  hand  shall  wipe  our 
tears  away.  The  Son  of  man  shall  sit  on  the 
throne  of  his  glory,  and  he  shall  say :  '  Depart 
from  me,  ye  cursed,  into  everlasting  fire,  pre- 


162    MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

pared  for  the  devil  and  his  angels :  for  I  was 
a  hungered,  and  ye  gave  me  no  meat ;  I  was 
thirsty,  and  ye  gave  me  no  drink :  I  was  a 
stranger,  and  ye  took  me  not  in.'  .  .  .  '  Verily 
I  say  unto  you,  Inasmuch  as  ye  did  it  not  to 
one  of  the  least  of  these,  ye  did  it  not  to  ME.' 
Cast  him  into  outer  darkness — a  proper  place 
for  a  black  sin  like  that !  A  man  for  whom 
the  Son  of  God  died,  to  live  heaping  himself 
up  with  food  and  clothes,  spending  every  thing 
on  his  house — perhaps  on  his  dog  and  his 
horse — and  for  the  Blessed  Lord  and  Giver  of 
all — nothing,  or  only  a  mockery  that  is  worse 
than  nothing ! 

But  after  all,  how  much  one  ought  to  give  is  a 
matter  that  every  man  must  settle  for  himself. 
In  this  matter  we  are  not  under  the  law,  but 
under  grace.  But  let  a  man  see  to  it  that 
grace  doesn't  get  less  out  of  him  than  the  law 
could  get  out  of  a  Jew.  Surely  the  son  of  the 
bondwoman  is  not  going  to  be  more  gener- 
ous than  the  son  of  the  free.  Heir  to  all  his 
Father's  estate — Isaac,  the  child  of  laughter — 
surely  he  will  do  greater  things  than  the  poor 
wanderer  in  the  desert.  Yet  under  the  law 
the  servant  gave  a  tenth,  besides  what  the  sac- 


A  Homily  of  Mister  Horn's.  163 

rifices,  and  gifts,  and  offerings  cost,  and  that 
was  more  than  another  tenth.  Love  is  a  poor 
thing  if  it  can't  get  more  out  of  any  body  than 
the  law  can.  A  son  is  hardly  worth  the  name 
if  he  doesn't  give  a  better  service  than  a  slave. 
I  think  that  every  man  who  calls  himself  a 
Christian  is  bound  to  sit  down  and  think  about 
it  carefully,  ay,  and  kneel  down  too  and  pray 
about  it,  not  only  look  here  and  there  and  see 
what  somebody  else  does.  Let  him  honestly 
count  up  what  other  things  cost  him,  let  him 
count  up  how  much  he  owes  to  the  Lord  for 
the  preaching  of  the  word,  and  for  the  means 
of  grace,  for  the  blessed  word  and  the  hope  of 
heaven.  Then  let  him  settle  what  he  can  give 
and  stick  to  it,  telling  the  Master  what  he  has 
done,  and  asking  his  help  and  blessing ;  for 
without  his  help  we  shall  soon  slip  back  again 
into  the  old  careless  ways. 

"  And  besides  that,  if  a  man  really  loves  his 
Lord  at  all,  he  will  not  only  think  how  much  he 
can  give — he  will  think  of  this,  too,  how  much 
he  can  save  that  he  may  give.  He  will  deny  him- 
self, and  take  up  his  cross,  that  he  may  be  what 
the  Lord  Jesus  calls  '  rich  toward  God.'  If  a 
man  doesn't  love  with  a  giving 'love  he'd  better 


164     MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

hold  his  tongue  about  it.  There  is  one  kind  o' 
love  that  John  tells  us  not  to  have,  and  it's 
a'most  the  only  kind  o'  love  that's  forbidden 
— '  Let  us  not  love  in  word,  neither  in  tongue.' 
You  know  how  God  loves :  God  so  loved  that 
he  gave.  That  is  his  love,  and  we  don't  know 
much  about  it  if  we  don't  love  with  a  love  that 
loves  to  give.  Come,  wake  up,  thou  Little- 
heart,  and  count  up  what  he  has  given  thee. 
How  much  owest  thou  unto  thy  Lord  ?  When 
you  had  spent  all,  and  were  perishing  with 
hunger,  he  ran  and  fell  on  your  neck  and  kissed 
you.  He  brought  you  home,  and  gave  you  the 
best  robe,  and  the  ring  for  the  finger,  and  the 
shoes  for  the  feet.  He  had  the  fatted  calf 
killed  for  merry-making.  Has  he  not  sent  his 
angels  to  hold  you  up  in  their  hands  ?  and  for 
you  and  for  me  God  gave  his  only  begotten 
Son  !  And  yonder  there  are  the  pearly  gates, 
opened  for  us,  and  the  streets  of  pure  gold, 
and  the  fullness  of  blessing  for  ever  and  ever. 
O,  canst  thou  be  niggardly  to  such  a  Giver? 

"  To  give  with  the  right  spirit  is  the  third 
thing. — Not  to  let  a  poor  relation  starve  because 
you  want  to  look  fine  at  the  top  of  a  subscrip- 
tion list.  Thy  money  perish  with  thee,  if  thou 


A  Homily  of  Mister  Horn  's.  165 

canst  play  the  Pharisee  like  that ! — thou  and 
thy  giving  are  like  to  go  to  perdition.  And 
you  should  not  give,  either,  merely  because 
somebody  else  is  giving,  and  it  wont  do  for 
you  to  be  behind  them — people  would  notice 
it.  Yes,  and  there  is  One  who  notices  such 
giving  as  that,  and  he  wont  take  it  as  done 
unto  himself.  Remember  what  the  book  says, 
Not  grudgingly,  or  of  necessity. 

"  Grudgingly !  Why,  there  are  some  folks 
I'd  as  soon  kick  a  bee-hive  over  as  ask  them  for 
sixpence  for  the  Master.  You'll  set  'em  a-go- 
ing at  once,  buzzin'  and  stingin',  and  then  stop 
them  if  you  can  !  They'll  give  you  all  the 
sorrows  and  misfortunes  of  their  lives,  from 
their  teethin'  upward,  till  you'd  think  that  no- 
body ever  was  so  unfortunate.  Poor  creatures, 
twenty  years  agone  didn't  some  man  die  a 
half-a-sovereign  in  their  debt,  and  he  hasn't 
paid  'em  since,  and  he  professed  to  be  a  relig- 
ious man  too  !  And  there  was  old  Mr.  So-and- 
so,  they  did  think  that  he  would  have  remem- 
bered them  in  his  will — but  there,  what  could 
you  expect  with  such  a  set  about  the  old  man  ? 
You'll  hear  all  their  grumblings  and  growlings 
against  every  body  in  the  Church  and  out  of 


1 66     MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

it,  all  the  faults  and  failin's  of  the  whole  parish. 
And  after  that,  very  likely  they  will  ask  you 
to  call  again  for  the  sixpence  because  they 
must  think  about  it.  And  when  you  do  call 
again,  they'll  have  found  out  some  new  reason 
for  not  giving  any  thing ;  or  else  they'll  bring 
you  a  threepenny-bit,  with  a  great  sigh,  as  if 
they  were  parting  with  their  first-born.  The 
Lord  loveth  a  cheerful  giver.  And  no  wonder, 
for  'tis  one  o'  the  prettiest  sights,  and  in  these 
parts  one  o'  the  rarest,  too. 

"  Now,  my  friends,  I've  about  done,  for  I  can't 
either  preach  or  listen  to  long  sermons.  If 
once  in  your  life-time  you've  been  stirred  up 
to  think  about  this  matter  of  giving  I  am 
thankful.  And  the  Lord  help  us  to  see  our 
duty  and  help  us  to  do  it.  There's  plenty  of 
work  for  thee  to  do  with  thy  money,  hast  thou 
much  or  little. 

"  Eh,  my  friends  !  when  I  think  of  this  poor, 
poor  world — think  of  the  hungry  little  children 
— think  of  the  homes  stripped  bare  by  want, 
and  of  them  inside  that  are  ready  to  perish  with 
hunger,  ay,  and  of  them  that  are  hungry  and 
are  homeless  too — when  I  think  of  the  suffer- 
ers that  are  dyin'  for  want  of  money  to  buy 


A  Homily  of  Mister  Horn  's.  167 

the  skill  and  medicine  that  could  save  them, 
— think  of  the  dark  souls  whose  lamps  are  gone 
out,  and  know  that  money  would  buy  oil 
for  their  lamps — think  of  the  Bibles  it  would 
buy  and  the  missionaries  it  would  send — then 
money  seems  to  me  like  an  angel  of  God 
troublin'  the  waters  to  heal  poor  sick  folk, 
comin'  to  forlorn  mothers  in  the  wilderness 
and  caring  for  the  children,  and  seemin'  to  say, 
'  Fear  not,  Hagar,  the  Lord  hath  heard  the 
voice  of  the  child '  —  an  angel  that  lifts  the 
poor  Lazarus  up  out  of  his.  misery  into  such 
blessing  and  tender  service  that  it  is  like  heaven 
to  him — that  meets  the  penitent  outcasts,  and, 
putting  them  in  the  way  of  an  honest  living, 
saith,  '  Go  in  peace  and  sin  no  more,'  like  He 
did  whom  the  angels  worship — then  I  think 
money  can  go  about  doing  good.  When  I  think 
how  men  scrape  and  hoard  it,  I  have  wept  at  the 
picture  that  has  risen  before  me,  as  if  the  angel 
were  chained  and  fettered  like  Peter  in  prison, 
and  hosts  in  the  perishing  city  are  crying  to  God 
that  it  may  be  loosed  and  come  to  them  before 
they  die :  ay,  I've  wept  as  I've  thought  how 
often  it  is  a  fallen  angel — the  white  robes  flung 
off,  and  I've  seen  it  come  forth  with  a  harlot's 


i68    MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

gauds  and  paint,  spending  herself  in  noisy  riot, 
corrupting  and  cursing — she  that  could  have 
been  a  white-handed  angel  of  God. 

"  Yes,  money,  if  we  use  it  rightly,  may  be  a 
strong  right  arm  in  God's  great  world  to  help, 
to  defend,  to  uplift,  and  to  save.  But  use  it 
wrongly,  and  it  is  a  strong  arm  still,  to  injure,  to 
curse,  and  to  destroy — whose  evil  deeds  shall 
return  and  gather  with  a  tenfold  greater  hurt 
upon  the  owner  thereof." 


A   Gain  in  Grief. 


i6g 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A     GAIN     IN    GRIEF. 

HERE  the 
pulpit  deliv- 
erance from 
the  lips  of 
Mister  Horn 
just  referred 
to  was  can- 
didly heard, 
it  bore  good 
fruit :  but  a 
few  of  "  the 
members  of 
society"  did 
not  receive 
its  teachings 
with  favor.  Perhaps  the  sermons  that  are  most 
liked  may  sometimes  do  the  least  good ;  at 
any  rate  Mister  Horn  always  took  it  as  a  good 
sign  when  the  grumblers  and  faulty  ones  were 
louder  than  usual  in  their  speaking  out.  "  De^ 


i/o    MISTLR  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

pend  upon  it,  if  you  pinch  the  devil  a  bit  hard 
he'll  squeak,"  was  Mister  Horn's  explanation, 
"and  I  never  think  tfrat  'tis  all  right,  unless  I 
can  get  a  poke  at  him  somehow."  The  village 
shopkeeper  had  a  visit  from  more  than  one 
grumbler  during  the  next  week,  who  growled, 
but  paid  something  toward  a  long-neglected 
account. 

The  result  on  James  Niggardly,  Esquire,  was 
singularly  amusing.  You  might  have  supposed 
that  he  was  a  champion  ready  to  die  for  the 
injured  "  gospel  "  that  he  talked  so  much  about. 
He  declared  that  he  would  hear  Mister  Horn 
no  more.  He  didn't  think  that  the  house  of 
God  was  a  place  in  which  every  one  was  to  be 
made  uncomfortable,  that  he  didn't.  It  was  a 
place  where  men  and  women  went  for  rest  anc1 
comfort.  He  would  tell  Mister  Horn  so  wher 
he  saw  him.  And  he  did. 

"  Pre — cise — ly  "  said  Mister  Horn,  ver) 
slowly,  and  screwing  up  his  lips — "  pre — cise — 
ly.  But  then  it  depends  upon  the  kind  o'  men 
and  women  you  know,  Jim,  al — to — gether"- 
(and  he  brought  down  his  ash-stick  with  each 
syllable.)  "  The  Blessed  Master  made  the 
House  of  God  a  very  uncomfortable  place  to 


A  Gain  in  Grief.  171 

some  folks,  you  know,  Jim,  and  he  is  a  good 
example  for  us  to  follow.  People  who  cared 
more  about  getting  than  about  giving  were 
very  uncomfortable  when  he  made  a  scourge  o' 
small  cords  and  drove  them  out ;  when  he  up- 
set the  tables  and  sent  the  money  rolling  over 
the  floor,  and  drove  out  the  sheep  and  oxen, 
and  turned  out  the  dove-sellers.  I  dare  say 
they  were  very  angry,  and  talked  about  the 
house  of  God  being  a  place  where  folks  ought 
to  feel  very  easy  and  comfortable  !  But  then 
we  are  told  that  the  blind  and  the  lame  came 
to  him,  and  he  liealed  them.  He  made  tliem 
feel  very  comfortable  indeed.  You  see  it  de- 
pends, Jim — depends  on  the  kind  o'  men  and 
women,  al — to — gether."  And  once  more  the 
ash-stick  came  down  with  an  emphatic  con- 
firmation of  its  master's  opinion.  "  The  word 
is  like  salt,  Jim — 'tis  sweet  and  savory  to  folks 
who  are  sound  and  right ;  but  folks  with  chaps 
and  cracks  in  their  religion  will  feel  it  smart- 
ing and  stinging,  perhaps,  more  than  they 
care  for." 

Little  did  any  think  that  within  a  week  of  that 
Sunday  morning  Mister  Horn's  sermon  would 

come  to  the  mind  of  one  of  the  hearers  with  a 
11 


i/2    MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

new  meaning,  and  a  force  as  if  every  word  of  it 
had  been  on  fire,  and  had  burned  its  way  right 
to  his  heart.  That  one  was  James  Niggardly 
himself. 

Of  the  three  daughters  living  at  Stukeville 
the  youngest  was  Marian,  a  little  bright-haired, 
bright-eyed,  laughing  maiden  of  eight  sum- 
mers. She  wore  sunshine  always,  and  wher- 
ever she  stepped  came  gladness  and  happines  •, 
like  the  joy  that  greets  the  sun  in  early  spring. 

All  day  long  her  sweet  voice  was  heard  sing- 
ing through  the  house  or  as  she  was  roam- 
ing in  the  garden,  and  whenever  it  reached 
James  Niggardly's  ears  it  seemed  to  wake 
up  something  of  the  old  better  self  that  lay 
sleeping  within.  Every  body  loved  her — they 
couldn't  help  themselves  about  that.  But  her 
father's  devotion  was  more  than  love — she  was 
his  idol.  And  marvelous  was  the  power  she 
had  with  him.  The  hard,  stern,  selfish  James 
Niggardly  found  nothing  a  trouble  that  little 
Marian  asked,  and  nothing  was  a  sacrifice  that 
could  please  her,  whatever  it  might  be.  Why 
you  might  have  come  upon  him  amid  ledger 
and  day-book,  sitting  there  at  his  office  desk — 
he,  the  great  James  Niggardly,  Esquire,  with 


A   Gain  in  Grief.  173 

little  Marian  at  his  side  making  all  his  busy 
world  stand  still,  while  he  bent  over  the  troub- 
lesome work  of  mending  her  broken  doll.  If 
ever  his  voice  regained  its  old  ring  and  the 
cheeriness  of  former  days,  it  was  as  little  Ma- 
rian ran  for  a  romp.  If  any  thing  brought  back 
the  simple,  kindly  Jim  Niggardly  that  used  to 
be,  it  was  as  he  yielded  to  some  request  of  his 
little  maiden's. 

As  is  so  often  the  case  with  children  who 
die  young,  Marian  was  full  of  an  old-fashioned 
religiousness — very  simple,  yet  so  constant  and 
so  real  that  it  seemed  as  though  it  were  the 
growth  of  years.  Does  not  Heaven  mature 
the  spiritual  in  such,  and  make  these  little  or.es 
who  are  going  to  join  the  saints  in  light,  meet 
for  their  inheritance  ? 

One  day  when  she  was  not  yet  four  years  of 
age  her  father  was  lying  in  a  darkened  room 
suffering  from  some  temporary  indisposition. 
The  silence  was  disturbed  by  a  very  gentle 
knock  at  the  door,  followed  at  once  by  the  in- 
trusion of  a  sunny  face  and  sunny  hair,  and  a 
little  voice  asked  plaintively,  "  May  I  come 
in  ?  "  And  Marian  crept  over  and  sat  down 
beside  the  sofa. 


174    MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

"  Papa,"  she  whispered,  "  if  it  wont  hurt 
you  I  am  come  to  read  to  you."  Quite  un- 
able to  read,  she  opened  a  book  she  brought 
with  her,  and,  as  if  reading,  she  repeated  with 
exquisite  simplicity  these  words  that  she  had 
learned : — 

"  And  they  brought  young  children  to  Je- 
sus that  he  should  touch  them  ;  and  his  disci- 
ples rebuked  those  that  brought  them.  But 
when  Jesus  saw  it,  he  was  much  displeased, 
and  said  unto  them,  Suffer  the  little  children 
to  come  unto  me,  and  forbid  them  not ;  for  of 
such  is  the  kingdom  of  God.  Verily  I  say 
unto  you,  Whosoever  shall  not  receive  the 
kingdom  of  God  as  a  little  child,  he  shall  not 
enter  therein.  And  he  took  them  up  in  his 
arms,  put  his  hands  upon  them,  and  blessed 
them." 

Then  she  closed  the  book  and  kissed  him 
very  gently,  whispering,  "  Good-bye,  papa  ;  I 
hope  that  will  do  you  good.  I  have  asked 
Jesus  to  make  you  better,  and  I  know  he  will." 
And  she  left  him  in  tears. 

Little  Marian's  love  to  Jesus  was  not  only 
an  affection  for  him  who  had  long  ago  lived  a 
life  of  yearning  pity,  and  who  had  died  for  all 


A   Gain  in  Grief.  175 

men  on  the  cross ;  nor  was  it  only  the  thought 
of  the  glorious  King  who  hears  and  helps  us 
when  we  cry  unto  him.  It  was  the  devotion 
of  her  whole  being  to  One  who  was  to  her  a  con- 
stant Presence  and  a  personal  Friend.  There 
was  not  a  thought — not  a  feeling — about  any 
thing,  that  she  did  not  share  with  him.  Her 
toys,  her  dresses,  her  opinions  of  people,  all 
the  little  incidents  that  made  up  each  day  of 
her  life,  were  talked  of  to  him  with  a  con- 
fidence and  simplicity  that  realized  him  as 
"  the  Friend  that  sticketh  closer  than  a 
brother."  The  little  maiden  loved  him  with 
all  her  heart,  and  could  keep  nothing  from 
him. 

With  Mister  Horn  she  was  a  great  favorite, 
and  many  a  visit  was  paid  for  an  hour's  talk  in 
the  garden  with  Marian.  To  him,  perhaps, 
she  owed  much  of  the  intense  love  that  she 
felt  for  the  Saviour,  for  he,  more  than  any 
other,  had  told  her  of  him.  She  had  learned 
his  favorite  text  when  she  was  very  little,  and 
all  the  thoughts  and  motives  of  her  life  were 
shaped  and  colored  by  it. 

"  Mamma,"  she  often  said,  "  can  you  tell  how 
it  is  that  Jesus  should  care  so  much  for  me,  and 


176    MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

love  me  f  Isn't  it  wonderful,  mamma  ?  He 
gave  himself  for  me !  I  do  love  him  for  it 
very,  very,  very  much.  Don't  you,  mamma?' 
Sometimes  she  stood  quietly  by  the  window, 
wrapped  in  some  deep  thought,  and  then  look- 
ing up,  she  would  say:  "  O,  mamma,  I  do  love 
Jesus  so — I  want  to  give  him  every  thing;  you, 
and  papa,  and  all  of  us,  and  Mister  Horn,  and 
all  that  I  have  got,  and  the  sun,  and  the  flow- 
ers, and  every  thing  there  is.  You  know  he 
gave  himself  for  me." 

Without  any  formal  resolution  on  her  part, 
she  instinctively  came  to  look  upon  all  her 
money  as  belonging  to  her  dearest  Friend.  It 
was  perhaps  the  only  thing  that  she  had  abso- 
lutely in  her  own  disposal,  and  so  she  naturally 
gave  it  to  him  to  whom  she  was  so  devoted. 
A  money-box  was  the  treasury  of  her  little  offer- 
ings and  of  her  possessions  ;  nothing  was  more 
prized  than  this.  To  her  mind  Jesus  was  still 
standing  watching  the  gifts  that  came  into  the 
treasury.  One  day  her  father  thought  that  the 
sum  was  too  large  to  be  given  all  at  once,  and 
hinted  as  much.  Little  Marian  looked  up  in 
wonder,  and  said,  "  I  must  put  it  all  in,  you 
know,  papa,  or  else  Jesus  wont  be  able  to  look 


A   Gain  in  Grief.  177 

at  me  with  a  smile,  and  say,  'She  did  cast  in  all 
that  she  had.'  " 

She  had  not  been  well  for  two  or  three  days 
previous  to  the  Sunday  of  Mister  Horn's  ser- 
mon. On  the  Monday  she  got  much  worse, 
and  all  were  alarmed.  For  two  weary  days  all 
was  hopeless,  and  before  the  week  was  over  it 
was  plain  that  the  end  was  approaching.  Her 
father  could  not  leave  her— day  and  night  he 
remained  at  her  side.  His  love  grew  jealous 
at  the  thought  of  losing  her.  He  was  jealous 
of  those  to  whom  she  spoke  a  word ;  jealous 
of  every  look  that  wandered  from  him ;  im- 
patient that  any  other  should  minister  to  her 
wants  but  himself. 

Propped  up  on  the  pillows,  she  lay  with 
flushed  face,  the  thin  white  fingers  resting  upon 
her  little  money-box — an  angel  already  in  pu- 
rity and  celestial  beauty.  As  the  breath  grew 
quicker  her  lips  moved.  All  leaned  to  catch 
her  words ;  her  father  stooped  over  her,  most 
greedy  for  every  loved  sound.  She  whispered, 
"  He  is  coming  now!  Dear  Jesus!"  And  the 
eyes  were  fixed  as  a  smile  lit  up  all  her  face. 
"  I  am  coming  .  .  .  Now  I  shall  be  able  to  tell 
Jesus  how  much  J  loye  him ;  and  that  mamma 


178    MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

loves  him,  and  sisters,  and  you,  papa,  and 
Mister  Horn.' 

The  voice  grew  fainter ;  slowly  and  scarce- 
ly audibly  the  voice  was  heard  again,  "  Now 
I  can't  give  him  my  money  any  more.  Please, 
papa — do — it— for — "  The  head  fell  upon  the 
father's  shoulder,  the  soft  bright  hair  hung 
over  his  arm,  and  little  Marian  was  with 
Jesus. 

That  night  James  Niggardly  sat  vacantly 
staring  into  the  fire,  numbed  with  grief  to  the 
very  bone.  All  was  dark,  accursed,  and  utterly 
forsaken.  At  first  a  wild  rebellion  filled  his 
soul,  but  the  storm  had  spent  itself  in  a  flood 
of  tears.  And  now  he  could  scarcely  resist  the 
memories  of  little  Marian  that  began  to  crowd 
in  upon  him,  memories  that  at  first  he  had 
flung  forth  angrily  as  unbearable.  Soon  they 
seemed  almost  to  quiet  and  soothe  him. 
Among  the  visions  there  rose  one  more  dis- 
tinct, more  impressed  than  any  other,  it  was 
of  her  coming  in  four  years  before  wrhen  he 
was  lying  in  this  very  room.  He  almost  heard 
her  gentle  voice  go  through  the  words  again : 
"  Jesus  said,  Whosoever  shall  not  receive  the 
kingdom  of  God  as  a  lit  fie  child,  he  shall  not 


A  Gain  in  Grief.  179 

enter  therein.'"  Again  he  seemed  to  hear  her 
voice  saying,  as  if  it  were  a  prayer  more  than 
a  wish,  "  Papa,  I  hope  that  will  do  you 
good." 

A  prayer  it  was,  a  prayer  answered  that 
night  as  James  Niggardly  fell  on  his  knees  and 
poured  out  his  soul  to  God. 

"  As  a  little  child,  as  my  own  little  Marian, 
as  thine  own,  O  Lord,  help  me  to  receive  thy 
kingdom." 

Bravely  did  he  fight  against  the  selfishness 
that  had  become  habitual,  nerved  and  inspired 
whenever  he  recalled  the  dying  words,  now 
made  sacred  to  him,  "  Please,  papa,  do  it  for — " 
Mister  Horn  was  now  a  frequent  visitor  at 
Stukeville,  and  his  prayers  and  counsels  led 
James  Niggardly  back  to  the  man  he  had  been 
— further  back  than  that,  until  he  became 
humble  and  simple,  and  received  the  kingdom 
of  God  as  a  little  child. 

#  *  .          *  *  fl- 

it was  twelve  months  after,  on  the  anniver- 
sary of  Marian's  death,  that  they  talked  of  the 
little  maiden.  James  Niggardly  stood  leaning 
against  the  mantel-piece  as  he  held  in  his  hand 
the  money-box.  "  Ah,  Mister  Horn,"  said  he, 


i So     MISTER  HORN  AND  His  FRIENDS. 

with  tears   of  gratitude,  "  her   death  was  my 
life  ;  her  loss  saved  me." 

Many  a  generous  deed  was  done,  and  many 
a  noble  gift  was  sent  without  any  other  expla- 
nation than  this,  which  was  written  within : — 

I.   N.   FOR   MARIAN. 


THE   END. 


lid  tan  and  His 


BY  MARK  GUY  PEARSE. 

WITH.    ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Price,  $i. 


NOTICES  BY  THE  ENGLISH  PRESS. 

There  is  a  reality  and  freshness  about  the  book  that  will  be 
sure  to  render  it  a  favorite  wherever  it  is  known.  .  .  .  We 
heartily  thank  the  author  for  this  fresh  and  readable  book. — 
Christian  Age. 

Rich  in  Cornish  anecdotes  and  passages  from  the  simple 
annals  of  the  poor,  Mr.  Pearse's  book  must  be  popular,  and 
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Mr.  Pearse  writes  with  a  sure  pen,  with  a  keen  apprecia- 
tion of  humor,  and  a  wide  knowledge  of  human  nature.  .  .  . 
Handsomely  got  up,  well  illustrated.  His  characters,  when 
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This  book  is  worthy  of  the  special  notice  of  the  class-lead- 
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amid  beauty,  humor,  and  pathos,  words  profitable  for  direc- 
tion and  instruction. — Methodist  Recorder. 

We  warmly  commend,  as  one  of  the  most  bright,  sparkling, 
racy  books  that  we  have  seen  for  many  a  day.  Mr.  Pearse 
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The  readers  of  this  Magazine  have  no  need  to  be  told  how 
well  worth  knowing  is  "Daniel  Quorm,"  and  how  full  of 
shrewdness,  pith,  and  point  are  his  "religious  notions."  .  .  . 
\Ye  will  only  add  that  the  getting  up  of  this  book  is  most 
tasteful  and  attractive.  .  .  .  The  illustrations  are  vigorous 
and  life-like. — City  Road  Magazine. 


DANIEL  QUORM,  AND  HIS  RELIGIOUS  NOTIONS, 


OPINIONS   OF  THE   AMERICAN   PRESS. 

Daniel  Quorm  is  represented  as  a  shoemaker  in  an  English 
mining  town,  occupying  the  responsible  position  of  Meth- 
odist class-leader,  and  Society  steward.  He  is  illiterate,  and 
yet  a  deep  student  of  the  word  of  God  and  of  the  human  soul. 
He  has  evidently  learned  one  of  the  most  difficult  of  lessons. 
He  knows  himself;  lie  seems  to  have  learned  thoroughly  the 
workings  of  the  Spirit  with  his  own  heart.  With  a  rich 
imagination,  he  clothes  his  thoughts  with  a  drapery  that  is  at 
once  grotesque  and"  enchanting.  One  can  hardly  open  it  at 
any  point  and  read,  and  not  be  led  down  into  the  deep  things 
of  God. — Northern  Christian  Advocate. 

There  is  a  vein  of  dry  religious  humor  and  satire  running 
through  this  book,  that  is  of  the  rollicking  type.  No  person 
who  is  familiar  with  old-time  notions  among  the  people  called 
Methodists,  especially  in  old  England,  but  can  readily  see 
the  striking  contrast  between  them  and  this  progressive  age. 
Aside  from  its  Methodistic  flavor,  there  is  rich  reading,  and 
instructive,  too,  for  all  Christians. — Pittsburgh  Commercial. 

This  is  a  fac  simile,  engravings  and  all,  of  the  English 
edition  of  this  remarkable  work  previously  noticed  in  these 
pages.  Of  its  racy  style  our  readers  have  had  a  specimen  in 
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odism, with  its  homely  shrewdness,  its  pathos,  its  picturesque- 
ness,  and  its  spiritual  fervor.  —  Canadian  Methodist. 

Daniel  Quorm  was  a  Methodist  "class-leader,"  "Society 
steward,"  and  shoemaker  in  a  small  mining  village  in  En- 
gland. Possessed  of  much  quiet  humor,  and  a  large  amount 
of  shrewd  common  sense,  united  with  a  deep  Christian  ex- 
perience, he  was  well  piepared  to  be  a  religious  teacher. — 
Western  Christian  Advocate. 


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and  the  Astronomic  Doubt  as  to  Christianity.  By  Francis 
W.  Upha-n.  I2mo.  Price,  $i  75. 

The  Wise  Men.  Who  they  Were:  and  How  they  Came 
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Meditations  on  the  Actual  State  of  Christianity.     By 

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Meditations  on  the  Essence  of  Christianity.     By  M. 

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Misread  Passages,  of  Scripture.  By  J.  Baldwin  Brown. 
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Mission  of  the  Spirit ;  or,  The  Office  and  Work  of  the 
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Mystery  of  Suffering,  and  other  Discourses.  By  E.  De 
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Principles  of  a  System  of  Philosophy.  An  Essay  toward 
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$1  2=,. 


fUBLICATIOXS  OF  NELSON  &•  t>ff/LLfFSt 
805  BRO.YDWAT,  NEW  YORK. 

I  he  Story  of  a  Pocket  Bible. 

Ten  illustrations.     121110 ....$125 

Historical  Souvenirs  of  Martin  Luther. 

By  Charles  W.  Hubner.     Illustrated.     I2ino -  at 

Words  that  Shook  the  World  ; 

Or,  Martin  Luther  his  own  Biographer.  By  Charles 
Atlams,  D  D.  Twenty-two  Illustrations.  I2tno.  .  i  25 

Renata  of  Este. 

From  the  German  of  Rev.  Carl  Strack,  By  Cath- 
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Anecdotes  of  the  Wesleys. 

By  J.  B.  Wakeley,  D.D.     i2mo     125 

Martyrs  to  the  Tract  Cause. 

A  contribution  to  the  History  of  the  Reformation. 

By  J.  F.  Hurst,  D.D.     larno 75 

Palissv,  the  Husruenot  Potter. 

s   '  O 

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Prince  of  Pulpit  Orators. 

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Thomas  Chalmers. 

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William  the  Taciturn. 

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I  jfe  of  Oliver  Cromwell. 

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of    jiel^on   £ 
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AYESHA.  A  Tale  of  the  Times  of  Mohammed.  Bj 
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FLAVIA  ;  or,  Loyal  to  the  End.  A  Tale  of  the  Church 
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GLAUCIA.  A  Story  of  Athens  in  .the  First  Century.  B> 
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LEOFWINE,  THE  SAXON.  A  Story  of  Hopes  and 
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ELFREDA.  A  Sequel  to  Leofwine.  By  Emma  Leslie. 
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QUADRATUS.  A  Tale  of  the  World  in  the  Church.  By 
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SUNSHINE  OF  BLACKPOOL.  By  Emma  Leslie. 
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HOPE  RAYMOND;  or,  What  is  Truth.  By  Mrs.  E. 
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THE  TWO  PATHS.      By  Mrs.  E.  J.  Richmond.     Price, 

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MEHETABEL.  A  Story  of  the  Revolution,  By  Mrs. 
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MORAG  ;  a  Story  of  Highland  Life.     121110.     Price,  $i  25. 

MOTHER,  HOME,  AND  HEAVEN.  A  Collection  of 
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DEWDROPS  AND  SUNSHINE.  A  Collection  of 
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JACQUELINE.  A  Story  of  the  Reformation  in  Holland. 
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LUCIEN  GUGLIERI.  By  Mary  B.  Lee.  i6mt 
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LILIAN.  A  Story  of  the  Days  of  Martyrdom  in  England 
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